


Two Halves Made Whole

by clueless325



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence (rewrites/fix-it S04E02 onwards), Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Finds Out, Canon Compliant (Seasons 1-3 & S04E01), F/M, Feelings, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Forgiveness, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Lancelot Lives, M/M, Magic Reveal, Missing Scenes (S04E01&2), Mpreg, Protective Gwaine, Protective Lance, Redemption, Regrets, Revelations, Slow Build, mildly dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-05-13 07:35:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5700268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clueless325/pseuds/clueless325
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In "The Darkest Hour", Gaius wasn't sure what it will take to repair the tear in the veil  between worlds (blood sacrifice was merely a guess) and Kilgharrah insisted that "the spirit world demands no sacrifice", that "it is the demands of the Cailleach". 

</p><p>What if... the Cailleach asked for something other than blood sacrifice? What if she asked for the two halves to be made whole instead?</p><p>************


</p><p>11/05/2018: I couldn't apologise enough for the long absence (mostly due to studies and severe anxiety attacks every time I try to write) but just in case I still have readers...I have finals coming up but am determined to continue writing/start updating again after. </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as an attempt to fix some things that bothered me in Episodes 4.01 & 4.02: The Darkest Hour Parts 1&2:  
>  1.Arthur's eye-roll, 2.Gwaine's lack of reaction/interaction with Merlin, 3.Lancelot's death. 
> 
> Hence, in this story:  
>  1.The eye-roll is justified/explained, 2.Gwaine DOES care, 3.Lancelot LIVES ...and... 4.Merthur is OTP.
> 
> However, the story has taken a life of its own inside my head and I thought I'd attempt to write it down and share...
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin and please note that English is not my first language.

** Prologue **

 

Merlin practically skipped to Arthur’s chamber, his heart lighter than it had been for months, years even.

The last time he had been able to breathe easy (relatively, of course) was more than three years ago, before Camelot was nearly taken by the Knights of Medhir and he had been forced to turn on a friend, forced to look her in the eye even as he convinced her to drink the poison that could cause her death.

He still wondered if in the end, that was what had _truly_ turned Morgana.

The betrayal of a trusted friend.

 ** _His_** betrayal.

The three of them were the only ones awake and Arthur was out fighting the _seven_ un-dead Knights of Medhir _and_   Morgause _by himself_ whilst _falling asleep_ on his feet with Merlin and Morgana barricaded inside the throne room, charged with the protection of a sleeping King.

It was the only way to break the spell and gave Arthur a fighting chance.

It was also the hardest thing Merlin had ever had to do.

He would forever mourn Balinor, Freya and Will, so precious, so dear to him. But he could also find solace in the fact that while he held himself responsible for their deaths, he wasn’t the one to take their lives.

They had died honourably and in the end, they had found peace.  

He didn’t have that luxury with Morgana for _he_ had been the one to _give_ her the poison.

It was _his_ hand that had poured the hemlock into the water-skin and it was _him_ that convinced her to drink it.

She had trusted him and he had gambled on her life. Gambled that Morgause would care enough about her half sister to call off the Knights of Medhir in exchange for the name of the poison he had used.

Morgana could have died and that would have been his doing and no one else’s. It would not have been a resulting consequence, not a result of him not being enough, but because he had _chosen_ to poison her and had done so _by his own hands_.

His gamble had paid off. Morgana lived. But her compassionate heart had hardened, no longer kind or just.

Her fear had turned to anger. Her trust turned to hatred.

She had been hurting and terrified. She had been struggling with doing what was right and **_he_**   had pushed her over the edge.

In the end, Merlin blamed himself for what Morgana had become.

The deaths that followed, the devastating hurt and destructions, those were on his shoulders to carry. And for the longest time, Merlin felt that he would crumble over the weight of all the guilt and sorrow.

He had pushed forward on sheer will alone and he had forced himself to smile until it became instinctive no matter how bad he was feeling.

Now a year since the immortal army was defeated, Merlin _still_ blamed himself, nightmares _still_ plagued his sleep and memories, grief and guilt would _always_ be there, just beneath the surface.

But he had learned to tuck them away, learned not to dwell on circumstances he had no control over, things he could not change.

He had to. It was the only way to survive without yielding to despair, the only way he could move forward without surrendering to bitterness, the only way he could get through each day without succumbing to hysterics.

Arthur needed him. And for Arthur, Merlin would endure _anything_ , sacrifice _everything_.

It helped that Lancelot and Gwaine had decided to stay.

After the defeat of Morgana, Morgause and Cendred’s Immortal Army, both knights along with Percival, Elyan and Leon had been dubbed by the people as Prince Arthur’s Knights of the Round Table.

Word had spread across the land of Camelot’s bravest, Arthur’s most trusted knights, his inner circle.

Their names whispered in reverence and their tales and prowess became bedtime stories for young children, exaggerated and embellished with each passing of the mouth by travellers, bards and tavern goers alike.

Yet through it all, both Lancelot and Gwaine had remained steadfast in their friendship and devotion to Merlin.

He didn’t like to think of what state he might be in today if not for the two knights. They were the truest friends Merlin could ask for and he would forever be grateful for them.

Where Lancelot soothed him down, Gwaine lifted him up. Lancelot’s calm presence comforted while Gwaine’s lively antics cheered.

He would never have given up. Not with Arthur’s fate resting in his hands. But it was like he was drowning in a sea of despair.

Lancelot and Gwaine’s presence, their friendship, had helped kept his head up.

The despair remained, but he was no longer drowning and Merlin found he could wake up in the morning without sweating in fear, could breathe without sorrow choking his throat, could smile and actually _feel_ the emotion.

Noble Lancelot, courageous Gwaine, both so loyal, not just to Arthur and Camelot but to him as well.

For the longest time since Will and Freya, Merlin did not feel so alone anymore. Hope bloomed inside his heart.

Still, the darkest hour loomed around the corner and destiny lay ahead.

 

*****End Prologue*****

    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. 'Knights of Medhir' is referenced from Episode 2.12: The Fires of Idirsholas  
> 2\. 'Immortal Army' is referenced from Episode 3.13: The Coming of Arthur (Part 2)


	2. Samhain Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of Episode 4.01: The Darkest Hour (Part 1) rewritten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter also contains references to Episodes 1.03: The Mark of Nimueh, 1.04: The Poisoned Chalice and 3.13: The Coming of Arthur (Part 2). It’s currently slow-build (establishing the scene and the state of mind of the key characters) but will pick up pace soon (hopefully).
> 
> Previous objectives achieved: 1. Eye-roll JUSTIFIED, 2. Gwaine DOES care!

** Chapter 1: Samhain Sacrifice ** 

 

****

 

Arthur was leaning against his desk, deep in thoughts with a parchment in his hands when Merlin entered with a white shirt for him to wear.

The warlock stopped short in his track, “You're dressed,” he said in surprise.

Arthur huffed. “Yes, Merlin, I'm not an idiot,” the prince said and turned to sit behind his desk.

Merlin couldn’t help the laughter that came out of him when he saw the skin that was showing on Arthur’s back. The prat hadn’t even managed to pull his shirt properly into his breeches. It was folded halfway through his back!

He couldn’t resist teasing, “Are you sure about that?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes, “I beg your pardon?”

“It's just that you—“

“Merlin,” the name was said warningly.

“But you—“

“I am trying to write a speech.”

“Do you want help?”

“No.”

Merlin held up a scroll. Eyes alight with laughter and something that was not unlike adoration, offered it like bait, “You won't want this, then?” He teasingly pulled it back and taunted, “I spent all night working on it.”

Arthur did not find it endearing. Not even a bit.

He took the scroll and looked it over with exaggerated scepticism.

Bantering with Merlin and baiting him had become a habit and far be it from him to mess with five years of tradition. Obviously, it wasn’t because he thoroughly enjoyed the routine. Not even the slightest.

He wasn’t even surprised at how good the speech was.

Years ago, he would have been amazed. After all, a peasant boy from a small village being literate was not exactly a common thing.

But Arthur had learned over the years how smart Merlin actually was. He’d have to be to keep up with Arthur’s wit and Gaius’s teaching.

Even Geoffrey had a soft spot for Merlin and it was common knowledge that Geoffrey had very little patience with those who did not match up to his standard of intellect.

Truth be told, Merlin actually wrote better speeches than him. Not that Arthur would ever admit it out loud. The servant was insolent enough as it was. There wasn’t really any need for him to be smug as well.

He handed the scroll back to Merlin and slapped on an unimpressed look on his face, “Needs a polish,” and relished the look of disdain and disbelieve on Merlin’s face.

“I'll add it to the list,” was Merlin’s sarcastic reply to Arthur’s delight.

“Merlin, there aren't many servants who get the chance to write a prince's speech. Obviously it would be too much for you to say, ‘Thank you’," he answered back gleefully.

Merlin stared at him for a moment, narrowed his eyes, picked up Arthur’s laundry and walked out without deigning to reply.

Arthur huffed out a laugh. Merlin had that effect on him even under the worse of circumstances. And for awhile there, things had been as bad as they could be.

Morgana’s betrayal had hit Arthur really hard. He had known her his whole life and for the most part, thought of her as a sister. How ironic it was when she turned out to actually _be_ his sister.

His _father_ , who Arthur had looked up to his entire life had had an affair with Morgana’s mother which resulted in Morgana’s birth not even a year prior to Arthur’s.

Uther had lied to them both.

And Morgana had known.

Arthur remembered the utter shock and betrayal he had felt upon hearing Morgana’s claim to the throne and how Merlin had stopped him from rushing forward in outrage.

He would have otherwise, without doubt, been killed by the immortal army.

And just when he didn’t think he could feel any more shock or betrayed, Morgana had called Uther, ‘ _father_ ’.

The look on Uther’s face was enough to confirm the truth of her claim.

Arthur had gone numb.

Again, it was Merlin that saved him, gently pulled him away and got him safely out of the castle.

The discovery of both Uther’s and Morgana’s treachery, two of the people he loved most and trusted most, his whole life, had nearly broken Arthur. And while he was wallowing in his despair, it was Merlin’s words and complete faith in him that pulled him out, gave him courage and the will to take action, to fight back and regain Camelot.

Now his father was a broken man who stared off into space, in a world of his own. Arthur could not even summon any anger towards him. He couldn’t even feel anger towards Morgana.

All he felt was a deep sadness, a pang of loss and regret.

With his confidence shaken like never before and his heart so completely bruised, he also had to become Regent.

He was so unsure, of himself, of everyone, and of everything. But Merlin had been there every step of the way with his absolute faith and complete devotion, complaining about mundane everyday task all the way, yet seeing to them and spoiling Arthur in the process nevertheless.

So really, Merlin was the worst servant there is but he was also the best servant there is.

He was insolent when he needed to be, and gave Arthur the outlet for his frustration. But he was also wise when it was necessary and was a source of comfort, strength and courage when hurt, despair and fear tended to overwhelm the prince.

Over at the Seas of Meredor, hurt, despair and fear was threatening to overwhelm _Morgana_ as she helped Morgause limped out of a cart.

The sisters looked on towards a far off Island casted in fog.

“The Isle of the Blessed,” Morgause whispered reverently. There was wistfulness as well, at the bleak sight at what was supposed to be a magnificent place filled with magic and power. How the Old Religion had suffered.

No more. Morgause would make sure of that. She’d make sure of it with her last breath. The Old Religion would thrive again and her beloved sister would lead the way.

Morgana ignored her heavy heart and helped Morgause towards a dock where a ferryman stood by a longboat.

Her encounter with several knights of Camelot a few days earlier on the Plains of Denaria did nothing to soothe her nerve.

She had been relieved for the brief reprieve from getting to this place, had been glad for a chance of payback, to unload the grief and bitterness that was consuming her as she struggled with her precious cargo, a disfigured Morgause at the back of a cart.

Her beautiful, powerful sister, reduced to a weak, scarred, barely alive figure.

It had made her feel even better when she heard the familiar voice of Sir Leon. Someone she had known almost her whole life. Someone she grew up with, trusted and respected.

He used to be a friend.

He was a friend no more.

How she had relished the look of surprise on his face and the fear when he realised who she was even as she calmly told him where she was headed, right before she blasted him and the other knights off the ground with a mere push of her hand, her magic powerful enough to render them all unconscious or dead.

She didn’t even bother to check. She just didn’t care. There was only one person left deserving of her care.

By the stroke of midnight on this eve of Samhain, she would not even have that.

She would be all alone…

 _Truly_ and _completely_   alone.

Her hold on Morgause tightened slightly.

The ferryman held out his hand and Morgause placed a gold coin on it. “You know where we wish to go,” she said softly.

The sisters huddled together, cherishing their final moment with each other, the ferryman at the helm of the longboat as it glided across the still water.

Above them, Wyverns flew about, shrieking at each other around a looming fortress rising from amidst the Isle as though guarding it.

The sisters paid the beasts no heed. They were after all, creatures of the Old Religion and Morgana and Morgause are two of its last remaining High Priestesses. They would not dream to harm these creatures nor do they fear them.

The fortress came closer and closer in view as the boat continued forward, formerly grand but abandoned and neglected for years except for the Wyverns circling above.

Close to midnight in the Banquet Hall of Camelot’s Castle, Arthur and Agravaine sat on either side of the empty King's chair presiding over the Samhain feast, Regent and Advisor in place of an absent King, broken by the betrayal of a beloved daughter.

The King was not missed much for the Prince Regent was well loved by the people.

The Advisor on the other hand, was not yet a well-known individual.

But Lord Agravaine was Queen Ygraine’s brother, the last of the de Bois who had come to offer his service to Camelot when it became known that Arthur had become Regent.

Arthur trusted his uncle and the people trusted Arthur.

The golden prince stood and the laughter died down.

“Samhain. It is the time of year when we feel closest to the spirits of our ancestors. It is a time to remember those we have lost to celebrate their passing—"

Merlin smiled with pride as he listened to the words he scribed came out of his liege’s mouth, oblivious to the pending doom about to be unleashed.

“Samhain is almost upon us. We must hurry,” Morgause said almost urgently as the sisters walked towards a neglected altar in the ruined, forsaken fortress.

Morgana stopped.

“I can't do this,” she was almost begging in her despair.

“Sister,” Morgause pleaded right back, “Remember what I told you. It is the only way. What you are about to do will affect everyone, even you. But most importantly, it will bring our enemies to their knees. You must be strong, remember that.”

She presented Morgana with a dagger, “Do not be scared.”

Morgana took the dagger. Her heart felt like it might stop.

Morgause continued consolingly even as she climbed weakly onto the stone altar, “I am not long for this world. There is nothing left for me here now.”

Morgana’s heart broke all over again as it screamed silently that _she_ was still there, that Morgause still had _her_.

Morgause took Morgana’s hand, “Please, sister, let my parting be my final gift to you,” she said and lied down on the altar.

Heartbroken, scared and terrified, Morgana strengthened her resolve.

She would be strong. She would do what needed to be done. She would be free and she would bring the Old Religion back.

It was what Morgause wanted.

Magic would be free again and Arthur would pay, Uther would pay, everyone who stood in the way would pay.

Morgana would see to it. It would be _her_ gift to Morgause.

Her voice may tremble but her faith carried her forward as she chanted the spell that would bring about retribution for her kind.

Her heart wept for the sister that she was about to sacrifice yet her resolve remained for the sake of that same sister.

Her eyes glowed gold and the dagger plunged into Morgause's chest.

With Morgause’s last gasp of breath, Morgana was blown off her feet.

At exactly the same moment, down to the exact second, time slowed down for Merlin in Camelot.

Arthur’s toast to the King and everyone else’s reply came out distorted, as though from far, far away, somewhere in a dream that was vague and unclear.

He felt so, so cold, colder than he had ever been.

It was like his bones and all the blood running in his veins had frozen, replaced by paralysing fear and despair.

An old woman stood in the middle of the banquet hall, cloaked and hooded in black, contrasted starkly against her white hair and her very, _very_ pale skin.

Merlin could _feel_ the magic of the Old Religion practically _bursting_ from the wooden staff in her hands, _emanating_ from her very being.

But it was her eyes, lined with eye bags which were so very red, as if she had been crying _so much_ that the feature was permanent on her face that drew Merlin fully.

Eyes that were _so, **so**_ sad with **_so_** much pain in them.

It was as though all that pain and despair were reaching out for him.

Merlin was no stranger to pain but this felt more than he could ever _hope_ to bear.

When she spoke, her voice came as though from the depths of the earth itself, “Emrys. Emrys. Emrys.”

His chest tightened and taking a breath felt like an impossible task.

His stomach turned and churned until he thought he was going to be so ill and would _never_   be alright again.

His empty serving pitcher fell to the floor with a loud clang and the whole hall went quiet as everyone turned towards the noise.

Merlin swayed. His body falling, following the same path as the pitcher but even before his body hit the floor, Lancelot was already charging to his side.

Arthur had started at the loud sound made by the pitcher and had almost rush to his servant himself when Merlin looked about to fall, propriety be damned.

He had to remind himself that he was regent now.

It was hardly proper for him to rush to Merlin’s side like a worried lover.

The fact that they never were lovers in the first place would not have stopped the tongues from wagging inappropriately regardless.

For some reason, and to Arthur’s complete bewilderment, the court, servants and nobles alike, found Arthur’s and Merlin’s interactions… _fascinating_.

It wasn’t as if Arthur and Guinevere kept their affections for each other a secret. But _their_ public display did not garner nearly as much interest.

Hence, Arthur was both relieved and exasperated when Lancelot beat him to Merlin’s side.

Unconsciously, the prince had looked left and right to see that no one was aware of his reaction.

His instinctive action and reaction with regard to his manservant, his relief that no one was paying him any attention and Lancelot’s obvious and in Arthur’s opinion, sometimes ridiculous, concern for Merlin, all combined and Arthur actually rolled his eyes at the ridiculousness of it all.

Gwaine on the other hand, remained rooted to his spot as he watched Lancelot looked over a shivering Merlin, checking for injuries before hastily gathering Merlin into his arms, gentleness and care evident in the noble knight’s every movement.

Still, Gwaine could not move.

In the two years that he had known Merlin, he had seen his dearest friend rode into dangers, threw himself in harm’s way without a second thought to himself, all in the name of protecting Arthur, or anyone for that matter, because that was just the kind of person that Merlin was.

But no matter the threat, Merlin _always_ survived. He never got hurt _too_ badly, not physically at least. And he always, _always_ got back up _every time_ he fell.

So when Merlin had fallen, Gwaine’s initial thought was that someone that was _not_ him, though usually it _was_ , had convinced Merlin to sip at some of the ale, and if ever there was a person who could not handle his liquor, it was Merlin.

Gwaine had even let out a small laugh when Merlin fell.

But when Merlin started shivering, and the sheen of sweat on his face and how pale that face was finally registered in Gwaine’s mind, he just…froze.

Panic welled up inside him and coiled tight in his chest as he helplessly watched Lancelot carry Merlin out of the banquet hall with a very worried looking Gaius following closely behind.

It wasn’t long too before Gwaine followed suit.

The beauty of being omnipotent was also the ability to be in two places at the same time. At least that was the case with the gatekeeper to the spirit world.

So while she set her grand plan in motion and filled Emrys with as much despair and fear as her powers allowed her to, she stroked Morgana's cheek almost tenderly.

Morgana woke to the gentle touch.

She sat up and saw the cloaked woman standing in front of a large black rift, a fissure in the universe itself.

“Who are you?”

“I am the Cailleach, the gatekeeper to the spirit world. You have torn the veil between the worlds.”

While she still looked pale, there was certain lightness to the Cailleach that wasn’t there when she was confronting Merlin.

Her answer to Morgana was kind and given with a smile that was almost gentle.

The Lady Morgana was after all, one of the last remaining High Priestesses there was.

Eerie screams echoed from the rift and Morgana flinched as though she had been hit.

The Cailleach looked around her knowingly, “The Dorocha. They are the voices of the dead, my child. And, like the dead, they are numberless.”

Morgana looked around in fear as the Cailleach continued, “You are right to be afraid, Morgana. Your enemies will rue this day and all the destruction it brings. But you must beware. Tearing the veil between the worlds has created a new world, and you will not walk through it alone. The one they call Emrys will walk in your shadow. He is your destiny, and he is your doom.”

The thought of Emrys brought grimness back to the Cailleach. Perhaps it was not her place to intervene but the warlock left her little choice and the High Priestesses’ sacrifice had made it possible for her to put her plan into motion.

Fear and despair were powerful motivators and those who survived both would only be made stronger by them.

She hoped that Emrys would survive.

Light was needed to balance darkness just as darkness was necessary to enhance light.

Wrapped in grief that was second nature to her for far too long, the Cailleach whispered her last warning to Morgana, “Emrys.”

And that one word filled Morgana with a kind of fear she had never known before.

Lancelot laid Merlin on his bed and smoothed his best friend’s raven hair back in concern. “What happened?” he asked Gaius who was hovering on the other side of the bed, equally anxious.

“I don't know. I've never felt anyone so cold before. “

“Could this have something to do with Morgana? Leon and Elyan got back a couple of hours ago. They have yet to present their report to the Council but they said they caught up with her at the Plains of Denaria. Elyan said that she was headed towards the Seas of Meredor.”

“The Isle of the Blessed,” Gaius breathed out.

The fear radiating from the physician had dread pooling in Lancelot’s gut, “Where? I don’t understand, Gaius. Did Morgana do something to hurt Merlin? She’s _days_ away from here.”

Just the _idea_ of anyone trying to hurt Merlin sent flashes of uncharacteristic anger shooting through the normally amenable Lancelot.

“The Isle of the Blessed is the centre of the Old Religion, the focus of its power where lies the magic of life and death itself.”

“And what would Morgana be doing there that could have affected Merlin this way?” Lancelot asked as he piled more blankets onto the shivering warlock.

“It’s Samhain. Merlin fell on the stroke of midnight, the very moment when the veil between the worlds is at its thinnest. It cannot be a coincidence.”

Gaius had to stop to gather himself.

Lancelot gave him a puzzled look.

The physician took a deep breath as if to calm himself before continuing, “In the time of the Old Religion, the High Priestesses would perform a blood sacrifice on Samhain Eve...to open the veil between the worlds…to release the Dorocha, the spirits of the dead.”

Lancelot watched Gaius in horror. Very quietly he whispered, “And Merlin?”

“Merlin’s power is great, his gifts unmatched. He’d be attuned to the magic of the Universe itself. If, God help us all, the veil between the worlds _have been_ torn open, Merlin would have felt it. It would have affected him, greatly.” Gaius declared helplessly.

The old man shook his head, placed a hand on his ward’s forehead and turned to leave the room. Lancelot, he trusted, would take good care of his precious charge.

Lancelot kept vigil by Merlin’s bedside and tried to absorb all the information Gaius had given.

When Merlin continued to shiver, he got up and shook open yet another blanket and carefully added it to the ones already covering the warlock. His hand without design tenderly rubbed soothing circles on his friend’s chest as his heart constricted painfully in his own.

He wished there was more he could do.

Merlin was the last person to deserve to be in any sort of pain.

Lancelot had made a vow to keep Merlin from any harm and yet here he was with nothing he could do to help, again.

“Will he be alright?” a voice gruff and husky broke Lancelot from his reverie.

He turned and saw Gwaine standing by the doorway, looking uncharacteristically subdued and uncertain.

“His temperature is going up but he’s still very cold.” Lancelot answered.

Gwaine nodded. “Do you know what happened to him?” he asked.

Lancelot shook his head, not quite meeting Gwaine’s eyes.

Gwaine stared at him, assessing and intent for a long moment. Lancelot thought that maybe the knight would call him out on his half truth.

Instead, Gwaine entered the room and pulled up a chair to sit silently on the other side of Merlin’s bed, one hand on Merlin’s arm while the other went to smooth Merlin’s hair back, much in the same way Lancelot had, worried, caring and tender.

Lancelot sat back in his own chair, his own hand on Merlin’s other arm and studied Gwaine and pondered.

For someone usually without a loss for word, Gwaine never had much to say to Lancelot.

Lancelot suspected it had something to do with his friendship with Merlin but he was never much for confrontation and so did not broach the subject with either the carefree knight or Merlin.

But Gwaine, Lancelot had no doubt, had no problem whatsoever with confronting things head on.

Lancelot had felt his eyes following him and Merlin whenever Lancelot was with the warlock. He could even sometimes feel an amount of wariness and hostility coming from the man.

Lancelot knew with a certainty that Gwaine had kept his silence on the matter for Merlin’s sake.

Whatever problem or suspicion that Gwaine may have on him, Lancelot was certain that the knight loved Merlin as much as he. For that reason, and for Merlin’s obvious trust and affection in the knight, Gwaine had Lancelot’s trust as well, reciprocated, or not.

Lancelot however, had no intention of forsaking Merlin ever again.

As far as he was concerned, Merlin could use as many people in his corner as possible. And per Merlin’s own words, both Gwaine and Lancelot were his best friends. So Gwaine would just have to learn to share.

Merlin needed them both and if anyone’s heart was big enough to love without boundary, it was Merlin’s.

Arthur walked tiredly back to his chamber, resigned with having to undress himself for the night. He had thought to drop by to see how Merlin was doing but thought better of it.

Neither Lancelot nor Gwaine had bothered to come back to the Samhain celebration and Arthur had no doubt where those two knights were.

Those two, two of his Knights of the Round Table, two of his best knights, were as different from each other as night and day. But they had two very palpable traits in common, their skills that made them the only knights in the whole of Camelot to ever best Arthur on a one-on-one combat, and, their complete devotion to his servant.

Arthur trusted them, respected them. He even admired them.

He had no doubt that they would lay down their lives for him, and for Camelot. But he was also aware that they would do so out of duty and honour.

He also knew where their allegiance would be if it came down to choosing between their duty to him and their loyalty to his servant.

Both would die for Merlin and Arthur had no doubt that they would do so out of love and affection.

It was clear for anyone to see.

For someone so calm in demeanour, Lancelot was _always_ almost _frantic_ at the slightest threat to Merlin.

And for someone so carefree, Gwaine would _instantly_ become _ferocious_ at the first sign of impropriety towards Merlin.

Every time they were faced with any kind of danger, Lancelot would place himself in front of Merlin whilst Gwaine would be strategically placed to watch Merlin’s back.

 _Every_ time, without fail.

It was almost ridiculous how overprotective those two were of his bumbling servant.

And it grated at Arthur’s nerve even as it soothed him.

He didn’t understand why it disconcerted him so, the easy affections both Lancelot and Gwaine shared with Merlin or the deep devotions the knights had for his idiot.

They even had a special look that was normally out of character for them but was typical and reserved for Merlin alone.

Down-to-earth Lancelot with an almost starry eyed look and brash Gwaine with tenderness in his gaze, and _always_ in both cases, the looks were filled with adoration and devotion.  

He understood the devotion of course. For Merlin was the kindest, most selfless person there was, who would give a hundred times over before he would even consider taking from another or even asking for himself.

This was the same idiot who had burst into a council meeting with the King and nobles present and declared himself a sorcerer, all to save Guinevere’s life. He hadn’t cared that it would cost him his own life. He just cared that his friend would be safe.

And not a week after that, the idiot had gone and _knowingly_ drank poison. Granted, it was done to save _him_ , but that just proved Arthur’s point.

Merlin obviously needed watching after.

The clumsy idiot would trip over air and had trouble walking and talking at the same time without hurting himself even _without_ his tendency to throw himself in harm’s way!

So Arthur was relieved that Lancelot and Gwaine were watching out for Merlin, especially since he was certain that there would be times that _he_ won’t be able to.

Still, there was a part of him that felt challenged and…almost…territorial and… possessive.

These feelings perturbed him, particularly so when they rose whenever he saw the ‘looks’. He didn’t know why and he didn’t particularly want to think about it either. It was how he felt and it disconcerted him.

Perhaps tomorrow he would challenge _both_ Lancelot _and_ Gwaine _together_. Let them see that _he_   was actually quite capable of protecting what was his. For Merlin _was_ **_his_** …to protect.

Arthur shook his head at the slight pause in his thought. _Of course_ , Merlin was his to protect.

First thing tomorrow morning, during the knight’s training, Arthur would take on both Lancelot and Gwaine and show them.

Only, for no apparent reason, Merlin’s bittersweet smile on the steps of the castle’s main entrance the day they took Camelot back from Morgana, flashed across Arthur’s mind.

He had turned around from a very public kiss with Guinevere and had frozen at the look that was on Merlin’s face.

His servant was smiling, such a happy smile and yet Arthur had never seen Merlin looked so wistful, like he had lost more than anyone had a right to lose and was remembering that loss even as he rejoiced for Arthur’s own fortune.

Arthur had felt his heart clenched and he remembered feeling such guilt even when he knew not what the guilt was for.

And then, Lancelot and Gwaine had rode in, side by side on white stallions and as Merlin shifted his gaze towards the two knights, a truly genuine happy smile had lit up his face and all was right with Arthur’s world.

So maybe Arthur would let the two knights have their reprieve after all.

He wondered if he could get away with bullying Merlin to finish his breakfast without the servant getting the wrong idea that he actually cared instead.

Arthur yawned. He was sure he’d figure something out.

Merlin was far too skinny and was too much of an idiot to take care of himself. So it was up to Arthur to make sure the idiot did not starve himself and ended up fainting again.

Merlin’s bittersweet smile was the last thing Arthur remembered clearly before he fell into a deep sleep, filled with to-be-forgotten, dreams of insolent servant with ridiculous ears and the brightest smile, who never listen to orders, devoted and loyal, clumsy and foolhardy, always there, keeping _him_ safe and secure, no matter what.

 

*****End Chapter 1*****

 

 

 **Bonus Material: ** Merlin’s bittersweet smile & the way Lancelot & Gwaine looked at Merlin 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Pictures for a) The chapter cover and Lancelot’s ‘look’: Taken from Episode 4.01: The Darkest Hour (Part 1). b) Merlin’s bittersweet smile and Gwaine’s ‘look’: Taken from Episode 3.13: The Coming of Arthur (Part 2) and Episode 3.04: Gwaine, respectively.  
>  2\. Most dialogues are from Episode 4.01 (with some adjustments and sequences rearranged).


	3. Love's Loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parts of Episodes 4.01 & 4.02: The Darkest Hour (Parts 1&2) rewritten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter also contains references to Episodes 1.05: Lancelot, 3.04: Gwaine, 3.08: The Eye of the Phoenix and 2.04: Lancelot & Guinevere.
> 
> I apologise for the delay. But I hope the fact that this chapter is over 7500 words made up for it ;)

** Chapter 2: Love’s Loyalty  **

 

** **

 

Agravaine was over the moon. Arthur was handing him the Pendragon seal.

“You have to take this. It bears the royal seal. In my absence, responsibility to the kingdom rests with you.”

“What about your father?” He had to keep up appearances after all. It would not do for Arthur to discover where his true allegiance lay.

“Should he die, you're to assume the throne.”

Agravaine was sure that the beautiful Morgana would need a king and who was to say that king could not be him…

Still, he had to keep up the pretence, “Arthur—“

Luckily it was cut short by Arthur’s insistence, “You're the only person I trust, Uncle.”

 _How gullible you are,_ he thought gleefully.

Out loud though, he was reluctant and concerned uncle played to perfection. “I beg of you, for the sake of the kingdom, there must be another way.”

He tried to press the seal back into Arthur's hand, knowing that Arthur would not have taken it anyway.

“My mind's made up. I'm just grateful you're here. I don't know how I'd have got through these last few months without you. Thank you, Uncle.”

“I made a promise to your mother. I'll always be there for you.”

It wasn’t even truly a lie.

Before he came to Camelot to offer his services to the unsuspecting prince, he had reaffirmed the promise he had made to avenge both Ygraine and Tristan, had done so under the cherry tree that he had planted in memory of his sister.

He had vowed not to leave Camelot until both Uther and Arthur had paid for his siblings’ deaths.

It was a stroke of luck that he met Morgana on the way.

He had been captivated by her beauty and spirit and had pledged his allegiance to her.

Agravaine wondered if this would be a good excuse to go and see her. Surely she would want to know that her half brother was intending to sacrifice _himself_   to save Camelot.

Maybe this news would cheer her up. Morgana had such a beautiful smile…

Arthur stared at his father.

Here was the man who singlehandedly raised him, the man whom he thought to be infallible.

Through the years, he found himself disagreeing with some of his father’s tenet but he had never once lost the awe, the admiration.

His father was the person he looked up to, the one he tried to please and the standard that he had set upon himself.

But the king was broken, a shell of who he was, barely aware of his surroundings and Arthur wished with all his heart that there was something he could do.

Now he might not even have the chance.

Within a day after the first sighting at the village Howden, Camelot had lost at the very least fifty lives and since then, more villages had been attacked by what Gaius had identified as the Dorocha, the spirits of the dead.

At last count, there were _hundreds_ dead, close to, if not more than, a _thousand_ if the lives lost from all across the Kingdom were included.

Villagers were coming from _everywhere_ with their belongings and anything they could carry, looking to Camelot for protection.

Yet, the Dorocha could not be defeated by swords or arrows. There was no actual way of fighting them. Camelot’s best knights were little more than defenceless against them.

The only defence that was even remotely useful were torches. But the fire did not kill the Dorocha. They only worked as a sort of repellent.

At night, the knights patrolled the streets, doing what they could, but in the morning, there would always be bodies to be gathered and seen to.

 _“No mortal had ever survived their touch_ ,” Gaius had said.

The physician thought that their best chance would be to travel to the Isle of the Blessed and repair the veil between the worlds that had been torn. It was from _this_ tear that the Dorocha had come from.

Gaius hadn’t been sure _how_ to repair the tear.

The physician had hazarded a guess that since to create a tear would require a blood sacrifice, to seal it may require yet another.

Arthur had no choice.

If laying down his life would spare the people of Camelot, then that was what he intended to do.

He had no idea how his life got to this point.

Growing up, there were only two people who truly mattered to him.

Now one was broken and the other the cause.

His heart hurt.

 _How could Morgana be capable of such destruction_?

Even if she was angry with their father, she could have given _him_ the chance to make amends, given him the chance to be her _brother_. _How could she resort to this instead_?

Perhaps his father was right. Perhaps it was the magic that corrupted Morgana.

But Arthur remembered a blue light, so very long ago, that had guided him to safety. It had gone as quickly and quietly as it had come but it had saved him and he had felt protected, _loved_ even.

That blue light, Arthur was certain, was magic.

Since then, even though he didn’t voice it out loud, there was a small part of Arthur that wondered if _maybe_ not _all_ magic was bad.

Maybe if he voiced _that_ thought out loud, it would draw his father out?

Or it would probably break whatever spirit the king may have left.

Probably the latter, considering the state his father was in.

Arthur swallowed audibly as he lowered himself to the chair opposite to his father.

As usual, the king made no movement to acknowledge his presence, completely occupied with staring into space.

Arthur sat with him and held his hands for as long as he could. This may be his last chance after all.

Finally, “There are many things I have to thank you for. You've taught me so much. Most of all, you have taught me what it is to be a prince. I hope that this time you'll be proud of me,” he murmured, voice thick with unshed tears.

If his life was the price that had to be paid for his father’s mistake and his sister’s vengeance, so be it. Arthur would pay that price, for them, and for their people.

The young prince stood, cupped his father's chin and kissed his forehead tenderly.

When he turned to leave, he saw Guinevere standing by the doorway, watching them.

He forced himself to smile and started to head her way but Uther grabbed his arm. “Don't leave me.”

The tears Arthur had tried so hard not to shed, fell and Arthur found he had to clear his throat before answering, “I have to, Father.”

“Please,” Uther pleaded, the first signs of life stirring since Morgana’s betrayal, probably only just realizing what _more_ he stood to lose.

Arthur squeezed his father's hand, wiped his tears before turning back towards Gwen.

“Promise me you'll look after him when I'm gone,” he said when he reached her side.

Guinevere must have seen something in his expression for she was staring up at him with concern clearly evident on her beautiful brown eyes, “What is it?” she asked, worried.

Arthur didn't respond and when Gwen asked him to stay, all he could do was embraced her close, praying that he’d have the chance to see her again but resigned to the possibility that he would not.

Gaius stared at his ward. Exasperation and incredulity on his face as Merlin continued packing. “Merlin, what are you doing?”

“It is my destiny to protect Arthur.”

He already knew the answer, but Gaius had to ask anyway, “How? You said your magic is powerless against the Dorocha.”

As many times as his ward put himself in danger to save the prince’s life, there weren’t that many times that Gaius had seen Merlin shaken to the core. But his ward had been _terrified_ when he came back from Howden and discovered his powers would not work in the presence of the creatures.

In fact, Merlin had been terrified ever since he saw the Cailleach on Samhain eve, five days ago.

“Then I must sacrifice myself in his place,” Merlin answered calmly as if he was talking about something as simple as doing the laundry or polishing the armour.

Gaius’s heart wrung with grief. “No.”

It saddened him how scared Merlin could be _for Arthur_ , how even the _idea_ of Arthur in danger or of him being incapable of protecting his prince would shake him to his very core but when it came to sacrificing himself _for_ _Arthur_ ,  Merlin was completely unrattled.

Sometimes Gaius wanted to shake Merlin so that he understood his worth. How uniquely special he was.

He wanted Merlin to understand that his life was _as precious_ as Arthur’s.

But Merlin would not be Merlin without his selflessness.

In the end, as special as his magic was, and it _was_ one of a kind, _tremendously_ powerful, _extraordinarily_ exceptional, it was Merlin’s heart that was even more so.

“My life has always been marked out by destiny. If this is meant to be...I'm not afraid. I will gladly die, Gaius, knowing that one day...Albion will live.”

Gaius didn’t know what to say to that. Merlin had already sacrificed so much. He shouldn’t have to forfeit his life too.

So he said nothing.

Nothing he said would have changed Merlin’s mind anyway. Not when it came to keeping Arthur safe.

Gaius had learned that long ago.

He slipped his arms around Merlin and drew him close. But when his ward started to pull away, the old man held on to him, a bit longer and just a little tighter.

He felt Merlin pressed his cheek to his hair and it was all Gaius could do not to bawl or beg for Merlin to stay.

It took everything he had in him to let go of the boy who was like a son to him.

Merlin left him with one last squeeze and Gaius started praying for a miracle.

From atop his horse, Elyan watched his sister made her way towards them, a determined look on her face and in her stride.

He started to get off his horse so that she could say her goodbye but as she got closer, he realised that Gwen wasn’t coming towards him.

She wasn’t even looking _at him_.

He followed her gaze towards Lancelot and the smile on the knight’s face gave Elyan pause.

Lancelot, for all his chivalry was rather reserved. He tended to keep his emotions close to his chest, his face often a picture of calm serenity.

It was often hard to gather what was on Lancelot’s mind and what he was feeling.

It wasn’t hard at the moment.

The tenderness was transparent, the kind of open adoration that the knight usually reserved for only one other, a certain manservant to the prince which were to be expected since the two were the best of friends and Lancelot was known to be rather protective of Merlin.

The same look, with love shining, directed towards his sister however, could only spell trouble.

Elyan sighed. He was not blind. He had seen that look before, quite a number of times in fact. On Lancelot’s face and also on his sister’s face when she thought no one was looking.

In the past year since he had been back, Elyan had gotten to know the noble knight. It was hard not to admire him for Lancelot was as skilled on the battlefield as the prince and even years ago, Arthur was the best warrior Camelot had to offer, his skills legendary across the kingdom.

More than that, Lancelot was as courageous as he was honourable. He was also very humble and down to earth. So more than admiration, Elyan respected and liked the man.

Elyan could understand why his sister would be drawn to him. Like Merlin, Lancelot was kind and gentle, brave and selfless, qualities Gwen had always been drawn to.

Elyan suspected that there was also some history there but his sister had been closemouthed on the subject and Elyan didn’t think it was his place to question Lancelot, at least not yet.

But Lancelot looked at Gwen like she was the moon and the stars and that would have been okay if Gwen hadn’t looked at him the same way, both with longing and more than a tinge of wistfulness. Unrequited love would be, for the most part, harmless and all of them, the knights, his sister and even Merlin had their fair share of admirers.

For his part, Lancelot kept his distance, loving only from afar. Elyan expected nothing less. The knight was noble and loyal.

But his sister, whether or not she was aware of her actions, her gaze would always seek out the noble knight first, before anyone else, it was as if she couldn’t help herself.

Even after a very public display of affection with the prince, her gaze would find Lancelot, as though she was betraying _him_ instead of the prince.

Elyan may not have been around for awhile. He had taken off when his mother passed away nine years before and had only been back for about a year. But Elyan knew Gwen. His sister had the strength of will and a huge heart, stubborn and passionate.

He didn’t doubt that Gwen loved Arthur but he also knew with a certainty that she loved Lancelot.

His sister had as much promised herself to the prince, her love for him steady and strong. Her strength of will would keep her loyal.

But her passion was for Lancelot, bright and deep, innate and consuming.

He wondered how long it would take for her heart to override her will. He wondered how long Lancelot would be able to resist once she made her move. And he wondered if Arthur would love them both enough to forgive.

He prayed he’d know what to do when the day came, for he had no doubt that the day _would_ come. It was just a matter of time.

Guinevere straightened her shoulders as she approached the handsome knight looking at her with a gentle smile on his face.

“Gwen,” he addressed her and she found her breath caught in her chest at the husky timbre of his voice and the tenderness of his gaze.

For a moment, she was transported back to more than three and a half years ago, back when she had thought that _he_ was everything that was right with the world… _before_ he had left her and broke her heart.

A part of her was thrilled that he still looked at her the same as he always did and another part of her was confused by the feelings he _still_ managed to evoke in her even after all this time.

There was also guilt because she was with _Arthur_ now and _did_ love the Prince, _very much_ so.

She did not understand why it was that she _still_ resented Lancelot for leaving her.

She understood that he was thinking of her and Arthur and did what he thought was best for them, being noble as he always was.

Yes, she knew why he did what he did, knew him well enough to understand his reasoning when he left.

But he had taken the decision out of her hands and made her choice for her. So he really had no right looking at her the way he did and he had no right confusing her the way he did and absolutely no right making her feel guilty either, as though it was _him_ she was betraying instead of Arthur.

She thought of Arthur, sitting beside his father. He had looked so vulnerable and oh, so very beautiful.

Her resolve strengthened. Will and pride prevented her from displaying any of her conflicting emotions and she lifted her chin almost defiantly, “Will you grant me a favour?” she asked.

His answer was immediate, “Anything.”

Guinevere turned her gaze towards Arthur who was exiting the city gate with Merlin by his side, “Look after him. Bring him home,” she requested softly but almost desperately.

Lancelot’s eyes dulled and his expression saddened but his voice was filled with conviction as he made his vow, “I will protect him with my life. You have my promise.”

“Thank you.”

She found that she had to restraint herself from looking back as she walked away from him, guilt and pleasure warring in her heart at the disappointment he wasn’t quite able to hide from her when she made it obvious that her devotion was to a man other than him.

Leon watched his childhood friend’s retreating back as she walked away from Lancelot and watched as Lancelot followed Gwen’s departure with wistfulness in his gaze.

He could not understand why Gwen would seek out Lancelot and not Elyan or Leon himself. Elyan was her brother after all and she had known Leon her whole life, had grown up with him in his household, more friend than servant.

He wondered if she realised that her actions betrayed her feelings for the knight. For it wasn’t Elyan, or Leon or even _Arthur_ that she had said her final farewell to before they all rode off to what seemed an impossible quest that they may very well not be coming back from.

Perhaps she had said her goodbye to the prince in private. Though why that would be since they never seemed to care about a show of public affection was beyond Leon.

Well, that was not quite true because Gwen always seemed uncomfortable when Lancelot was around to see and the prince always went for the grand gestures when the knight was in the vicinity to witness. It was as though she was trying to understate their romance and the prince was going for the opposite effect and all for the benefit of the noble knight who would usually avert his gaze elsewhere with a sad resigned smile on his face.

Either way, Gwen had walked away without looking back, without saying goodbye to him or Elyan or Gwaine and Percival whom she had become close friends with, and without stopping to say goodbye to Arthur or Merlin, her love and her best friend.

The only one that she had come to see off was Lancelot.

She hadn’t even _acknowledged_ Elyan or himself, definitely not any of the others.

Leon found himself wondering but before he could dwell further on his thoughts, Arthur and Merlin had reached them, Lancelot had already mounted his horse after helping Merlin with his pack, and they were immediately on their way.

It was a gruelling day of riding and nearly dark when they decided to make camp. Gwaine wasn’t surprised when Merlin volunteered to gather the firewood while the rest of them set up camp.

He wasn’t surprised when Lancelot’s gaze followed Merlin in concern before the knight went and joined him either.

What had him worrying was the change in their demeanours since Howden.

Merlin was clearly spooked and Lancelot was clearly terrified for his friend and _terrified_ was not a word one would normally associate with _courageous_ Lancelot, if at all in the first place.

His carefree attitude often fooled others into thinking that vigilance was not Gwaine’s strong suit and they would be very wrong in their assumption.

Not much escaped Gwaine’s attention. Like Arthur, he too had been trained since childbirth. In fact until several years ago, there would be very little differences between the princess and him, in their station and class, in their upbringing, privileges and obligations.

But unlike Arthur, Gwaine was not blind to the sacrifices that Merlin had made for him. He was not blind to the length that Merlin would go to protect the princess. It was that devotion and loyalty that drew him to Merlin in the first place.

He had felt protective of Merlin right from the start. It was the reason he had hoped to stay in Camelot when Uther banished him.

When Merlin had come to find him in Angard, Gwaine did not hesitate to follow him to the Perilous Land to save the princess.

If Merlin was determined to protect Arthur, Gwaine was determined to protect Merlin. Someone had to. Merlin was too loyal, too selfless and self-sacrificing to even think of himself.  

Since then, Merlin had taken up residence in his heart and Gwaine was certain that it was permanent.

Lancelot watched Merlin despairingly as the warlock continued picking up wood for them to use.

“You shouldn't be here. You have no powers.”

Lancelot had had to save Merlin from the Dorocha in Howden because his magic would not work and for as long as he lived, Lancelot didn’t think he’d ever forget the look on Merlin’s face, the words that were spoken and the haunted way in which they were said.

 _“_ _My magic is useless against them. I've tried. I have never felt so powerless. There was something deep inside. And when it came for me, I felt this emptiness. I couldn't breathe. I'm scared,”_ the warlock had said.

Merlin was the most powerful, bravest man Lancelot knew and he almost never complained, not when it mattered. For those words to come out of his mouth, for him to feel _powerless_ and _scared_ and to voice them out loud, Lancelot didn’t want him _anywhere near_ this situation.

Merlin shrugged it off, “Doesn't matter.”

“You're not a warrior, Merlin. I don't want to see you hurt. If you leave in the morning, I'll cover with Arthur.”

Merlin looked at him pensively, “It's your duty to protect Camelot no matter what the cost.”

Lancelot nodded.

“It's my duty to protect Arthur. Surely you can understand that.”

Lancelot sighed, “I can understand that very well. But Merlin, I pledged my allegiance to you even _before_ I became a knight. You can’t stop me from trying to protect you.”

“Why? Because you feel honour bound?”

“Because you’re my best friend and I love you.”

Lancelot smiled at the look on Merlin’s face. Sometimes he didn’t think that his friend knew his true worth, how precious he was and to so many.

Merlin touched lives everywhere he went and if Lancelot believed in nothing else, he wholeheartedly believed that the world was a better place because Merlin was in it.

He kneeled down so that his face was level with Merlin.

“I’m sorry I left before. I knew I shouldn’t have. I knew you were alone in your quest to protect Arthur and Camelot. I should have stayed. But I had to leave and I’m sorry for it,” he said softly as he looked directly into Merlin’s eyes.

“Because of Gwen,” Merlin’s reply was soft and his eyes were just as apologetic.

“I made her a vow I would keep Arthur safe just before we left this morning,” Lancelot tried to steer the conversation away from where he thought they were heading. Guinevere was a subject he did not want to discuss.

“You don't have to worry. I'll keep him safe.”

Lancelot stood up, “I made a vow, Merlin.”

“Do you still think about her?” It seemed that the conversation was headed that way anyway.

“No. Arthur's...a better man than me.” The first part was a lie. Lancelot couldn’t stop thinking about Gwen anymore than he could stop caring about Merlin.

How ironic it was that the two most important people in his life had both pledged themselves to the same man and how fortunate that Arthur truly was worthy.

“I'm sorry.”

Lancelot turned at the apology, “Why? He loves her and she's happy. _I’m_ happy.”

He had spent over two years pining for Guinevere and missing the feeling of belonging and the friendship he had with Merlin. He _was_ happy to be back.

Being a knight of Camelot was his life’s ambition and now he had achieved that ambition and Merlin was by his side where he could help keep safe.

Yes, there was still longing and remorse with regards to Guinevere but keeping his distance helped. Seeing her happy with Arthur, though bittersweet and made his longing more pronounced, also helped. It told him that he had made the right decision.

“You asked if Arthur had feelings for her and even though I didn’t answer, I think I rather made it obvious that he did. It was why you left, wasn’t it?”

 _Of course_ Merlin would blame himself. His precious friend had the tendency to take on everyone’s weight and put it on his own shoulders, always trying to help, always trying to fix everything, always caring more about others than he did himself and always putting more value on everyone else.

He put both hands on Merlin's shoulders, made sure to hold eye contact. “Merlin, I left because I saw for myself that he had feelings for her and thought that he was the better man for her. But I would not have left if I hadn’t seen _her_ reciprocate those feelings. She had feelings for him too and I would have been in the way.”

“She may have had feelings for him but her feelings for you were stronger!” Merlin insisted, agitated. “I should have made that clear but at the time, I was only thinking about Arthur. How hurt he would be. I wasn’t thinking about you at all. It’s my fault!”

“No one is at fault here. That day we escaped from Hengist’s Castle, she told me that her feelings for me would never fade for as long as she lived,” Lancelot said softly, sadly.

Remembering those words hurt. But he needed Merlin to understand. He needed his friend to stop blaming himself for choices Lancelot had made, choices Guinevere had made.

So he continued, “If her words were true, she would not be with Arthur. It was my choice to leave. It was her choice not to wait. I came back. But it didn’t change the fact that I left or that she’s moved on. That’s on me. It’s on her. It’s our own choice. You’re not at fault. She’s not at fault either. You can’t choose who you love.”

“I should have thought of you as well. You’re my friend.”

“Merlin, your first priority had _always_ been Arthur. I had _always_ known that. It doesn’t mean that you’re less loyal to me. It just means that you place him above everyone and anything else.”

He stopped, took a breath, and continued, “If you love him enough to let him be with the one he loves, do you not think that I’d have the strength to let _her_ be with whom _she_ loves?”

When Merlin and Lancelot came back, much to Arthur’s relief, there was a slight lightness to Merlin that hadn’t been there since Samhain.

He still looked haunted and Arthur had been hard pressed not to mention his watery eyes, both out of concern _and_ the old habit of baiting the man. But Gwaine had looked at him warningly and even Lancelot had looked ready to intervene. So Arthur had let up and Merlin had relaxed enough to join in the night’s conversation.

Arthur was glad. He had missed Merlin’s chatter. He had missed his smile too. Not that he’d admit it out loud, of course.

The rest of the evening passed without incident.

The following morning was not as pleasant. They had had to ride across a field full of peasant corpses obviously travelling towards Camelot but had not been so lucky to survive the journey.

He wished they could stop and tend to the dead but so many more lives were depending on them.

“We need to reach Daobeth by nightfall!” He pushed on.

Silently, he grieved for the lives lost.

The knights picked up their paces.

When they reached the crumbling fortress, another day had passed, another evening approached.

“Pair off. Find any wood you can. Get the fires burning,” Arthur ordered.

They had tried to gather as many wood as they could but the place was crawling with the Dorocha.

By the time they gave up and got back to the fire pit where Merlin and Lancelot were waiting, they were left with only two torches to be shared between the seven of them.

Merlin used the flint and the fire lighted instantly.

Arthur could not help noticing the smug look Merlin threw at Lancelot or Lancelot’s immediate knowing grin thrown in return towards his manservant. It was as if they were having a silent secret conversation, completely attuned to one another.

Sometimes, not all the times mind you, he envied them their easy camaraderie and Lancelot’s easy ability of soothing Merlin.

Sometimes he wished he had that same ability.

Sometimes he wished Merlin would confide in him as he was sure that the servant did with the knight.

Arthur had never felt lonely since the day Merlin entered his life, but moments like this made him wonder if he had as much effect on the servant as Merlin had on him. If Merlin trusted him as much as he trusted Merlin. For there was no one Arthur trusted more than Merlin.

He didn’t doubt Merlin’s devotion to him, or Merlin’s faith in him. It was Merlin’s trust that he questioned. For someone so expressive, Merlin was very secretive. Arthur was not oblivious to this.

Gwaine threw the last log into the fire, “The last one. Maybe we should draw lots, see who gets some more.”

“I'll go,” Arthur quickly volunteered. He needed distractions from his own thoughts.

“You'll need help,” said Lancelot. Arthur could see that he was torn between wanting to stay, no doubt to protect Merlin, and wanting to help, as was his nature.

“I'll go with him,” Merlin volunteered.

“You sure you're the right person?” Arthur couldn’t help teasing. At least he knew that when it came down to it, Merlin would always choose _him_.

“Well, since when have _you_ known how to collect firewood?” There was his Merlin, insolent as ever.

The knights chuckled and Arthur could feel Lancelot’s eyes on them as they walked away.

Gwaine watched as Lancelot paced, “They should've been back by now,” the noble knight declared with worry clear in his voice and on his face.

Gwaine almost snorted. Sometimes he wondered how between Lancelot’s over-protectiveness and Merlin’s recklessness, they were able to keep Merlin’s secret from everyone else.

But then, they had also had _him_ running interferences for them from time to time, in the background without their knowledge, _naturally_.

Really, people underestimated him sometimes.

Yes. Gwaine knew of Merlin’s magic.

 _Of course_ he knew.

He found out the very first day they met when plates and benches were flying towards anyone trying to harm Arthur.

Merlin wasn’t throwing any of those things using his hands.

He had been surprised at the discovery when he found out who Arthur was.

A sorcerer in the very heart of Camelot where people like him were burnt simply for existing, serving the crown prince of the kingdom no less!

He had been even more amazed to discover the depth of Merlin’s loyalty to the princess.

He wasn’t upset that Merlin chose not to confide in him. Sometimes a secret was too big to be voiced out loud. Sometimes the habit of keeping things locked up was too strong to break. Gwaine understood that better than anyone.

He was hurt when he found out that Lancelot knew though. It made him feel as though Merlin considered Lancelot a better friend, trusted _him_ more.

Gwaine wasn’t used to feeling possessive nor was he accustomed to jealousy or insecurity.

It was why he tended to either avoid Lancelot or hid his uneasiness. Because Gwaine loved Merlin and he would never put Merlin in the position where he had to choose.

He was also afraid that he might end up losing Merlin.

Gwaine didn’t think he could live with that.

For Gwaine loved Merlin, the very same way Merlin loved Arthur.

So when Lancelot grabbed the only torch they had to share between the five of them and asked, “Who's coming?” without looking back, Gwaine had hesitated.

He was worried for Merlin but he was also worried that Merlin may be in the middle of a magical attempt and that they would inadvertently blow his cover.

Magic was still punishable by death in Camelot. Arthur was its crown prince and Gwaine wasn’t sure how the other knights would react.

He sighed, grabbed his sword belt and put it on as he followed.

If Merlin was to be discovered, Gwaine would see to it that he survived with not a hair on him harmed.

Merlin was collecting firewood while Arthur stood guard with a torch when he heard the eerie sound of the Dorocha at the same time he heard Arthur called out his name.

The next thing he knew, he was tackled to the ground, out of harm’s way.

He lost his breath for a moment but Arthur grabbed him and pulled him up, “Let's go!” his prince said and continued manhandling him through several passages until they came to a secluded room.

They closed the door behind them and hid behind a corner of the room.

Merlin tied a cloth around Arthur's injured arm and looked at him questioningly when Arthur shifted restlessly.

“It's cold,” the prince clarified.

Merlin hadn’t noticed. He had been in a constant state of freezing since Samhain that he had actually gotten used to it.

Arthur looked at him assessingly, “You know, Merlin, you're braver than I give you credit for.”

Merlin grinned, “Really? Was that a compliment?”

“Don't be stupid,” the prat replied.

He should have left it alone.

Despite the slight hurt he felt, Merlin chuckled and felt his heart warmed when Arthur did too.

They sat huddled together for warmth, hiding and listening to the sounds the Dorocha made.

“All the things I've faced...I never worried about dying,” Arthur said softly.

“I don't think you should now,” Merlin replied just as softly. He wished he could wrap Arthur up and keep him safe in his arms forever.

“Sometimes you puzzle me.”

“You never fathomed me out?”

“No.”

Merlin shifted closer to Arthur, hoping to warm him up but knowing it was futile. Merlin never had much body heat to begin with.

“I always thought if things had been different, we would've been good friends.”

He was hoping for Arthur to say that they _were_ friends.

Arthur’s response was a short “Yeah.”

Oh well, if Arthur was determined to be a clotpole… “That's if you hadn't been such an arrogant, pompous, dollop head,” he added for good measure.

Arthur chuckled but it sounded weak to Merlin’s ear and he couldn’t help the need to comfort, “We will defeat the Dorocha, Arthur. We will. Together.”

“Well, I appreciate that. You know, you're a brave man, Merlin, between battles.”

And the bantering came easily. That had always been their way and Merlin understood that it was Arthur’s own awkward way of showing his affection, at least Merlin _hoped_ so. He didn’t like to think that Arthur actually meant some of the mean things he had said over the years. There were quite a lot of them.

They continued bantering quietly while keeping a close ear for the Dorocha and for the knights.

As precarious as their situation was, Merlin was content.

He was always content when Arthur was nearby for him to protect. And he would protect Arthur, or die trying. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

“They say the darkest hour is just before the dawn,” Arthur’s voice was whisper soft and he was looking at Merlin in a way that made Merlin swallowed hard and ducked his head involuntarily.

“Feels pretty dark right now,” he said to cover his sudden unexpected shyness.

“Well, it can't be long then.” Arthur said in a tone that had Merlin looking back at him, meeting his eyes this time.

His prince looked beautiful with his lips curved in easy amusement, apparently at Merlin’s expense.

He couldn’t help his returning smile.

It was then that he felt the cold presence of the Dorocha.

Merlin didn’t have to think. As Arthur started to move out of their hiding place, he pulled his prince back and rushed out straight for the Dorocha.

“Merlin, no!” Arthur’s shout was the last thing he heard before darkness and ice enveloped him completely.

Lancelot watched in horror as Merlin jumped straight at the Dorocha.

The creature caught his friend on the chest, stopped him mid-air and threw him back against the stone wall.

It was Lancelot’s worst nightmare came through.

He thrust the torch he was holding fiercely at the creature before handing it off to Percival as he ran towards Merlin, “What happened?” he urgently asked the prince as the man joined him.

There was no answer but the prince helped him turn their friend over.

Merlin was frosted over like the corpses they found and Lancelot felt chilled to the bones as though every drop of life had left his body.

Arthur watched as Lancelot tended to an unresponsive Merlin, rubbing soothing circles on his chest with one hand and his back with the other as all the knights except for Gwaine watched in concern, helping out where they could.

He didn’t know where Gwaine had disappeared to but Arthur suspected that the knight had done so to keep himself from hurting Arthur for not being able to keep his Merlin safe.

Arthur didn’t blame him. He was every bit as angry with himself.

He should not have let Merlin come in the first place. Merlin was not a knight. He didn’t even own a sword. None of the other knights had brought squires with them.

But Arthur had grown used to Merlin following him everywhere, into every danger, only ever concerned with Arthur's wellbeing and not a wit for his own.

Arthur was so used to it that he hadn’t even stopped to think about it.

It was their ritual. Where Arthur went, Merlin would _always_ follow.

He didn’t know how, but he had come to consider Merlin as such a part of himself that Merlin didn't count as someone else anymore. Arthur wondered when that had happened.

Leon approached the grieving prince cautiously and was surprised when Arthur addressed him. “We have to get him back to Gaius.”

“And abandon the quest?” Not for the first time, Leon wondered if the prince realise the depth of his feelings for his servant.

“He saved my life, I won't let him die,” the prince was adamant.

“Sire, if we don't get to the Isle of the Blessed, hundreds more will perish.”

Leon had a soft spot for the boy too but he had a responsibility to Camelot and if his prince was too shaken to remember his duty, then it was _Leon_ ’s duty to remind him, no matter how bitter the taste the action left in his mouth.

So he was relieved when Lancelot joined them and offered to take Merlin back to Gaius on his own. If anyone could do it, Leon was certain that Lancelot could. The knight was as skilled as the prince and loved Merlin just as much.

Leon couldn’t stop his body from shuddering. He did not like to think of what it would do to the prince and two of Camelot’s best knights if they were to lose Merlin.

Leon didn’t think Arthur, Lancelot or Gwaine would survive the grief or the lost, nor would they ever stop blaming themselves.

Arthur’s hands shook slightly as he tied Merlin carefully to his horse, “This is my fault and I'm sorry.”

Tears gathered in his throat as he spoke and he had to blink them out of his eyes, lest they fell.

He tried to convey his regret and apology as he looked Merlin in the eyes.

Merlin’s eyes that were usually so bright with laughter seemed so dead. 

Arthur was certain that he wasn’t quite able to hide his own pain, misery and fear from showing on his own eyes either.

The young prince swallowed.

He’d give _anything_ to see to those eyes filled with life once again. Carry the memory with him to the Isle of the Blessed to face whatever it was that he had to face.

He had been willing to give up his life. He hadn’t expected to forfeit Merlin’s.

His heart wrecked with grief, part of him dying as Merlin was dying.

Gwaine was glad he got back to the others in time.

He had had to get away. Seeing Merlin the way he was, was too much for his heart to bear and he was so, so angry at both Arthur…and Merlin too.

Why did Merlin have to be so selfless? Why did he put so little value on his life? Why wouldn’t he just _once_ think of _himself_?

The others told him what had been decided and he silently went to Merlin’s other side as Arthur tied him to the horse, just in time to here Merlin pleaded with the princess, “Take me with you, please.”

Gwaine almost laughed, _almost_.

“You would die, Merlin.”

He understood the exasperation in Arthur’s voice.

“But you don’t understand. Please, Arthur.”

Trust Merlin to be stubborn to the end.

“Do you ever do as you’re told?”

Was that fondness he heard?

“I have to come with you,” Merlin’s reply was desperate and Gwaine sighed as he squeezed Merlin’s arm.

His friend was too weak to turn to him but he knew that Merlin could tell that it was him.

Worry and grief numbed his chest and Gwaine was having trouble breathing. But he knew what he had to do.

Merlin would not survive if something were to happen to the princess. It would destroy him just as losing Merlin would destroy Gwaine.

He abandoned his plan to go with Lancelot and Merlin.

For this man that he loved, his first real friend, he would stay and keep Arthur safe, for Merlin.

Gwaine would do _anything_ for Merlin.

“You go and get better, Merlin. I’ll keep him safe. You have my word,” he whispered softly to his friend’s ear.

Three days and nights had passed since Lancelot and Merlin left.

Leon watched on as both Arthur and Gwaine dealt with their fear and grief very differently.

Gwaine would not shut up while Arthur barely spoke a word.

The knight ended up carrying out idiotic deeds such as attempting to stick his hand into the bees' nest, like he was currently doing, while the prince looked as though he was about to cry and throw the biggest tantrum at the slightest provocation.

Percival and Elyan were subdued too. The absence of their missing comrades clearly felt.

“Are you trying to get us killed?” he chided Gwaine over his antics.

“We're riding to our death anyway.” Gwaine replied flippantly before proceeding to put his hand in the tree that contained the bees' nest for another attempt at the honey.

Leon sighed. Maybe he’d have better luck with Arthur.

“It's good to give the horses a rest,” he said to the prince and upon receiving no response, added, “You've been quiet.”

“That's what happens after three days of listening to Gwaine,” the prince responded tiredly.

“You did the right thing, you know. Merlin couldn't have continued with us.”

“I should've saved him.”

“If anyone can get Merlin back to Camelot, Lancelot can.”

The prince didn’t respond but rolled his eyes when Gwaine turned away from the tree swatting at the bees that were swarming him.

Leon chuckled but raised his eyebrow when Arthur started for the horses.

“We need to get to the Tunnels of Andors before dark,” the prince answered his unspoken question listlessly.

It was nearly dark when they reached the tunnels.

Arthur dismounted and the knights followed suit, caution in every step. It won’t be long before the light was gone and the Dorocha unfailingly made their appearances once again.

“By dawn we'll be on the other side of the mountains,” the prince informed his knights.

Gwaine looked from Arthur to the tunnel and back to the prince. “You can't be serious. These tunnels are _crawling_ with wildren.”

The knight was very close to a breaking point.

“These tunnels will take days off of our journey.” Arthur’s reply was matter-of-fact.

“ _If_ we make it out alive,” Gwaine protested, “and that’s a very _big_ ‘if’.”

“We'll cover ourselves in Gaia berries.” Arthur was adamant.

“How do you even know that it will work? Have you _tried_ it before?”

“As a matter of fact, I have. With Merlin, when we went to rescue Guinevere from Hengist about three and a half years ago. That was how we found out that the berries worked. One was even licking the berries off of Merlin’s nose. You should see the look on his face.”

The memory brought a small smile to Arthur’s face but Gwaine looked at the prince in horror.

“You dragged _Merlin_ into a wildren infested tunnel _without knowing_ that the berries would work? And he _followed_?”

The knight stopped mid-ranting, slapped himself on the forehead before continuing, “ _Of course_ you would drag Merlin into danger without a second thought and _of course_ he would follow! You never care the kind of danger or trouble you get him into and Merlin… _Merlin_ would follow you _anywhere_ , do _anything_ for you!”

“Now hold on a second…”

But Gwaine wasn’t interested in what the princess had to say. The stress of all that had happened finally caught up to him.

He stormed towards the Gaia berries bushes grumbling about idiotic, _self sacrificing_ , loyal servant and a reckless, _uncaring_ prince who was too self-absorbed to appreciate such _utter_ loyalty and devotion.  

“Stupid Prince, Lunatic Merlin. You’d better be okay when I get back. I will strangle you myself. Maybe then you’ll learn not to sacrifice yourself all the time, and all for someone who’s too blind to see the things you do for him. I swear to God Merlin, you’ll be the death of me.”

 

*****End Chapter 2*****

****

** Bonus Material:  ** Guinevere’s love: Arthur or Lancelot, Prince or Knight?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Pictures for a) The chapter cover: Taken from Episode 4.02: The Darkest Hour (Part 2) with the exception of Gwaine's picture. b) Gwaine in the chapter cover: Taken from Episode 5.12: The Diamond of the Day (Part 1). c) Guinevere's love: Taken from Episodes 1.05: Lancelot, 2.04: Lancelot & Guinevere, 3.10: Queen of Hearts, 4.02: The Darkest Hour (Part 2) and 4.09: Lancelot du Lac, respectively.  
>  2\. Most dialogues are from Episodes 4.01 & 4.02 (with some adjustments and sequences rearranged).  
>  3\. Gwen's words (quoted by Lancelot) and references to wildren are from Episode 2.04.


	4. Devoted Darlings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of Episode 4.02: The Darkest Hour (Part 2) rewritten.  
> 
> 
> This chapter skips backwards from the ending of the last chapter (to see things from Lancelot and Merlin's POV since leaving the others) and converges back to the same timeline mid-chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter also contains references to (and some dialogues from) Episodes 2.04: Lancelot & Guinevere, 2.07: The Witchfinder and 5.12: The Diamond of the Day (Part 1).
> 
> Another long chapter of over 7000 words. I apologise again for the delay. I probably should try and write shorter chapters to post at better intervals in the future...

** Chapter 3: Lancelot’s Love, Gwaine’s Grievances **

**~~(Devoted Darlings:~~ ** ~~Lancelot & Gwaine…& _of course_ Arthur  & Merlin too, _obviously_ …duh! The other knights as well! **)**~~

 

 

It had taken Lancelot almost three days to reach the Valley of the Fallen Kings, the progress made slow by Merlin’s condition.

He had hoped to reach Camelot by nightfall but evening was approaching fast and the ride for Camelot and Gaius would have to continue in the morning.

The knight carried Merlin to a nearby stream, laying him down with great care. He took off his cloak, folded it into a sort of cushion for Merlin’s head.

Satisfied that his friend was as comfortable as he was able to ensure, Lancelot took off his gloves and crouched down to gather some water for his parched throat.

Now that he had some time to catch his breath and Camelot was finally within reach, other things that were pushed to the back of his mind were coming to the forefront.

In his urgency to save Merlin, he had forgotten the promise he had made to Gwen.

The worry for his friend had overridden everything else. Yet Lancelot knew that if he had to do it all over again, he would do the same thing. He would still choose to save Merlin.

Arthur was his prince and friend and Gwen was his love but Merlin…

Merlin had believed in him even when they were little more than strangers, had listened to his dream of becoming a knight and instead of dismissing it as a fool’s delusion of grandeur, had encouraged it, had stood by him and _for_ him as he tried to make that dream come through.

Merlin was the best person he knew, the best friend he ever had but more than that…Merlin was the family he thought he’d never have again.

So, even though he truly feared for Arthur’s fate and even though the thought of seeing Gwen’s face upon his return without the prince filled him with dread, Lancelot could not regret the choice he made or the promise he had had to break.

Not if it meant that Merlin would survive.

Merlin had never let him down and Lancelot would not ever dream of letting Merlin down.

He turned to wash grime off of his friend’s face but stared in shock at Merlin’s hand that had fallen to the side, into the stream.

From his fingertips that was in contact with the water, Merlin's skin started to shimmer, sparkled in glistening silver light.

“Lancelot….Lancelot…” A beautiful voice tinkled out his name as though spoken by the soft gentle breeze of the night.

Drops of water rose up from the stream, sparkling in the moonlight.

“Lancelot…”

A woman's face appeared in a drop of water. In fact, there was a woman’s face in _each_ drop of water that floated individually in the air. Beautiful, transparent, magical…

Lancelot stared in awe.

“We bear you no harm. We wish only to help.”

“What are you?”

“We are Vilia, spirits of the brooks and streams. The tear in the veil has upset the balance of the world. Good spirits as well as bad roam freely. But this perilous state cannot continue for long. “

“Prince Arthur is riding to the Isle of the Blessed. He intends to heal the veil.”

“He will need help...from the both of you.”

“My friend is sick. I need to get him to Camelot.”

“Merlin is stronger than you give him credit for. The young warlock has great power and a future that has been written since the dawn of time. Do not worry. Even now, my sisters begin to heal him.”

Lancelot’s awe for Merlin deepened but he was somehow not surprised.

He had always known that Merlin was destined for great things.

He turned to Merlin whose entire body now seemed to glow and smiled when he saw colour returned to his precious friend’s face, smiled wider when he put a hand to Merlin’s chest and felt that his breathing had evened out, deep and easy instead of short and gasping.

“You are tired. You must rest.”

“I need to find shelter.”

“You are safe here.”

“The Dorocha…”

“We will stay with you and protect you through the night.”

Lancelot smiled in wonder and amazement, filled with hope and gratitude as the water droplets around him shone brighter. Slowly, he lowered himself to the ground next to Merlin, an arm around his friend’s middle protectively.

As exhaustion and relief took over, his eyes closed for the night.

As Lancelot slept, Merlin found himself inside the Crystal Cave filled with floating crystals shining brightly.

A voice he thought he would never hear again called out his name, and his eyes widened as he saw the figure that had stepped out of the light, “Father.”

The spirit of Balinor smiled, a genuine happy smile filled with pride and love, “My son.”

“Are you really here? Are you real?” Merlin whispered in awe and disbelieve.

Balinor’s smile turned teasing as he answered his son, “Dead or alive? Real or imagined? Past or present? These things are of no consequence. All that matters is that you heed the words of your father who loves you. You mustn’t give up, Merlin. You mustn’t lose hope.”

“My magic is useless against the Dorocha.”

“Only if you accept defeat and let despair win. But if you fight it, if you let hope into your heart, there is nothing that you could not do.”

“What hope is there when Arthur is riding to his death and my magic won’t work properly with the Dorocha present? How will it work against the Cailleach? How will I protect him?”

Balinor put both hands on his son’s shoulders, “Merlin, you wield a power you cannot yet conceive of. Magic is the fabric of this world, and you were born of that magic. You _are_ magic itself. There is no limit to what you can do. Believe in yourself, my son. Arthur is your destiny as you are his. Do not be afraid. Trust in what you are, trust in what will be.”

Suddenly Merlin found himself back by the river bank, lying safe with Lancelot’s arms protectively around him.

Balinor leaned down and did what he never got the chance to do while he was still alive. He kissed his son’s brow, “Rest now. Rest my son. And remember, believe in what your heart knows to be true. _Believe_ , Merlin.”

Merlin struggled against sleep that was pulling him in, “I don’t want you to go, father.”

“You don’t need me, Merlin. You stand tall on your own two feet. You always have done. But as you are a part of me, I am a part of you. I’m _always_ with you. And I’m so proud of you. Remember that.”

Lancelot woke up to a missing Merlin and panicked.

He was suddenly wide awake, almost scrambling to get up.

“Merlin!” he gasped, “ ** _Merlin_**?!” there was no mistaking the fear and desperation that was in his voice…only to be shushed by the warlock who stood steady on a couple of rocks in the stream as though he wasn’t almost completely lifeless for the past few days.

Merlin’s back was to him but Lancelot could see the warlock peering into the stream, a stick and a couple of fish tied with a string in his hands.

He watched in a daze and bemusement as Merlin pressed the stick into the water, bringing it back up with more fish speared to its end.

Merlin unattached his catch and gathered it with the rest, turning to Lancelot with a huge grin on his face, “Breakfast,” the warlock said to the knight, holding up his prizes as if for Lancelot’s inspection, like nothing was out of the ordinary.

Lancelot blinked. His eyes went to the plump, fresh fish in Merlin’s hand to Merlin’s face and back to the catch, “Merlin, what...? Why are you...?”

He was at a loss for words even as his heart bloomed and soared, hardly daring to believe what he was seeing.

“What?” Merlin asked, almost cheekily.

“You're meant to be...dying.”

Now the mischievous smile did come, the one he thought he’d never see again, “Sorry,” the warlock said, obviously _not_ sorry _at all_ , “Here,” and started to hand the fish to him but changed his mind and handed him the stick at the last minute instead.

Lancelot looked down at the stick that was now in his hands, “What's this for? What am I supposed to do with it?” he asked tentatively, nonplussed.

“You look like you're going to fall over.”

Pleasantly surprised by Merlin’s cheek, Lancelot playfully swung the stick at him which Merlin surprisingly was able to dodge rather deftly.

“Yeah, not as quick as Arthur,” Merlin teased, though from his expression he was probably only half teasing. His best friend thought the world of the prince after all.

“Oh yeah?” he couldn’t stop himself from beaming at the warlock.

Merlin was all right. His best friend was alive and well. Lancelot felt as if he would never stop smiling.

“Come on. We need to catch up with the others.”

Right, may be not. His smile faltered slightly with that announcement.

He crossed his arms over his chest and stood his ground as Merlin started to make his way towards the horses, “No, Merlin. You're going back to Camelot.”

“You might be.” Merlin replied without turning back.

His best friend was daft.

“Merlin,” he pleaded.

“Say hello to Gaius for me!”

His best friend was daft, _and_ stubborn.

Lancelot tried to make one last stand, tried to make his voice as stern and menacing as possible, “Merlin!”

Merlin stopped and turned around.

Lancelot sighed. He never stood a chance. Not against that face. Not against that _person_ , one who was so precious to him.

“Arthur can't finish this without us,” Merlin reasoned.

Not that it was necessary. Lancelot was already picking up his cloak and sword.

“Arthur's right about you. You don't ever do as you're told.” Exasperated fondness was a very familiar feeling that Lancelot was actually very glad to be experiencing right then. It told him that he had his best friend back.

Merlin grinned, “Nope.”

Lancelot laughed. He _definitely_ had his best friend back.

Unaware that Lancelot and Merlin were even then trying to make their way back to them, Gwaine continued to exorcise his frustration on a bush of Gaia berries while the others left him to it.

They chose instead to stay on the other end of the bushes, hoping that he would soon cool off, preferably _before_ they enter the tunnel.

Elyan studied Arthur who was clearly affected by Gwaine’s words but was trying hard not to show it, “He didn’t mean it you know. He’s just worried about Merlin. They’re pretty close and he’s very fond of him,” he tried to console.

Arthur huffed, “Everyone’s fond of that idiot.”

“They are, aren’t they? I supposed it’s hard not to, him being the way he is.”

“He’s an idiot,” the prince muttered, repeating his favoured nickname for the servant.

No one will ever know, but Arthur actually considered the insult as his own personal form of endearment for Merlin, a way for him to express his affection without revealing his fondness for the servant.

“Remind me again why we're wearing this disgusting paste,” Percival asked as he lathered some of the berries on his face.

“Wildren are completely blind, they rely totally on their sense of smell. Gaia berries will mask our scent,” Arthur replied.

“You actually used it before, with Merlin?” Leon was mildly curious.

“However did you convince him? I mean, Gwaine is right, Merlin _would_ follow you anywhere but he’s also protective of you. I can’t imagine how you managed to convince him to go through the tunnel instead of another route,” Elyan remarked.

Arthur shrugged, “Guinevere was in trouble,” and then had the decency to look sheepish, “and I might have told him that wildren are sort of…giant…baby rats.”

Elyan’s eyes widened, “ _Baby_ rats?”

“You lied to him?” Leon looked almost scandalised.

“Well, I did tell him that they feast on human flesh,” Arthur qualified.

When three pairs of eyes continued to stare at him unblinkingly, he tried to justify himself, “He was _terrified_. You know how Merlin looks when he’s terrified! His eyes would go really wide and _really_ blue, his lips would quiver and his nose would scrunch up and he’d look like a fragile, frightened _child_ …” Arthur caught himself before he embarrassed himself any further.

Though judging from the smiles that the knights were unsuccessfully trying to hide, he was probably too late.

Still, it was lucky he was able to stop before adding how endearing Merlin had looked pouting the way he did, with his face all flushed up to the tips of his ridiculous ears or how tiny and adorable he was back then that all Arthur wanted to do was protect him.

Using words like adorable and endearing to describe _Merlin,_ Arthur would _never_   be able to live _that_   down.

He held up his hands in a sign of surrender, “I didn’t want to frighten him further,” he said quietly.

Percival grinned at him, “I think I’ll see if Gwaine is feeling better,” the knight said and clasping a comforting hand to Arthur’s shoulder, went to join Gwaine at the other end of the bushes.

Gwaine was attacking the Gaia berries one by one as though they were the enemy of the kingdom.

He glared at them, squished them between his fingers and smouldered.

Percival got there just in time to hear his friend’s tetchy mutterings of an uncaring, blind lout of a princess.

He studied Gwaine for a moment before softly commenting, “He _does_ care, you know.”

Gwaine turned abruptly and glared at him.

Unperturbed, Percival continued, “I’d wager he cares as much as you do. Maybe more.”

Gwaine snorted, “I doubt you’d find anyone who cares more about Merlin than I do.”

“Lancelot could give you a run for your money.”

Gwaine’s eyes narrowed. It didn’t bother Percival. “I spent almost two years with him before the letter from Merlin came asking for help to retake Camelot. He didn’t even hesitate. Merlin called and he went,” he said evenly.

“You think I’d do less for Merlin?” Gwaine’s tone was dangerous and his eyes had narrowed further to slits.

“No. I don’t. But when I first met Lance, you haven’t even met Merlin yet, have you?”

“Is there a point in there somewhere that you’re trying to make?”

“My point is…both Lancelot _and_ Arthur have known Merlin more than twice as long as you have. They’ve spent more time and have more memories with him.”

“Just because they’ve known him longer doesn’t mean they care more about him than I do.”

“No. But it does mean that they’ve cared about him for far longer than you have. And they _do_ care.”

Gwaine turned back to attacking the Gaia berries without deigning to reply.

Percival sighed. He was not used to interfering. In fact, he usually preferred to remain a silent observer. But he liked Gwaine, cared about him more than he’d like to. The knight intrigued him. And in the past year he had come to value Gwaine as much as he valued Lancelot, which happened to be quite a lot.

So he pushed on, “After we took back Camelot from Morgana, Merlin went back to Ealdor to see Hunith. He wasn’t even gone five days before Arthur dragged us both with him to get Merlin back. Remember? And despite the fact that he was pretty much Regent even then and was clearly needed in Camelot, he chose to stay in Ealdor a few more days, left Leon in charge of the kingdom and Lance and Elyan in charge of the knights. It certainly wasn’t because he _did not_ care. He stayed to let Merlin have more time with Hunith.”

Gwaine almost smiled at the memory of meeting Merlin’s mother for the first time. “He shouldn’t have gone in the first place. Should’ve just let Merlin had those days off. He was selfish,” he said instead.

“I don’t think Arthur _knows_ how to _be_ without Merlin, at least not for long. He was as lost then as he is now. Look at him, Gwaine.”

Gwaine followed Percival’s gaze, took in Arthur’s morose expression as Elyan and Leon chattered next to him.

He sighed. He knew that Percival was right.

“I just wish he treats him better is all. Merlin deserves to be treated better,” he said, relenting but not without getting his own point across.

Percival nodded. He could agree with that. Merlin deserved to be treated better by the prince. But Percival had his own thoughts regarding the matter which he preferred not to share as yet.

There was however, another subject that he’d like to broach while he was at it, “I agree. He could treat Merlin better. He _should_ ,” a slight pause, and then, “What about Lance? Think _he_ needs to treat Merlin better?”

Gwaine glanced up sharply at the unexpected question. Then again, maybe he shouldn’t be as surprised. Percival was close to Lancelot. He wondered how it was that the two closest people to him were also closest to calm, composed, _proper_ Lancelot who he had almost absolutely nothing in common with.

He must’ve said something to that effect out loud because Percival was addressing his reservation, “You and Lance have more in common than you think. You’re both incredibly loyal and tremendously courageous.”

“You think I’m courageous?” Gwaine couldn’t help teasing. He wasn’t completely oblivious to Percival’s interest in him.

Percival scoffed lightly, “I think you are _both_ fearless, the key word being ‘both’,” he said and pressed on even as a slight blush formed on his face much to Gwaine’s amusement, “Don’t imagine for a second that I’m not aware that you’ve kept Lance at a distance. Or that you do it because of Merlin.”

Gwaine raised his eyebrow, daring Percival to continue with that train of thought.

Percival didn’t hesitate to take up the challenge. “Much like our prince, you’re not used to strong feelings of attachment to someone but you _are_ strongly attached to Merlin.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Gwaine conceded and waited for Percival to continue.

The usually taciturn knight did not disappoint. “You’re alright with Merlin’s devotion to Arthur but that’s probably because those two come as a package deal,” he held his hand out to stop Gwaine from interrupting, “They’re almost never without each other. People get used to it almost right from the start,” he explained.

Gwaine absently nodded to himself.

“But as open and friendly as Merlin is, he doesn’t really confide in anyone. I think that’s what bothered you about Lance, the fact that it’s rather obvious that Merlin confides in him. I think you’re jealous of him.”

The last bit was said rather defiantly.

Gwaine stared at him, and continued to stare until Percival was almost uncomfortable by the intense scrutiny.

He was rather surprised by Percival’s insight but was not as disturbed as the other might think.

Gwaine had actually come to the same conclusion himself.

Unlike the princess, Gwaine had no problem with acknowledging his own feelings.

Although, he _was_ rather impressed that Percival had the audacity to voice his assessment, correct nevertheless it was, out loud to his face. The knight was braver than he gave him credit for.

A slow, amused smile formed on his face. “You’ve been observing me, huh? Put much thought to what and how I feel and think?”

They were interrupted by the prince’s order to move into the tunnel.

Percival hurried away from Gwaine but turned just in time to see a Dorocha heading towards the roguish knight who was clearly unaware of the impending doom heading his way.     

Percival didn’t hesitate and Gwaine found himself tackled to the forest floor with Percival lying on top of him in a compromising position.

He couldn’t help the grin that formed on his face, “Really Perce, I never knew you cared.”…and damned if Percival didn’t blush at that.

As Arthur and the other knights made their way through the wildren infested Tunnel of Andors and Gwaine was getting acquainted with one of said wildren much in the same way Merlin had experienced _his_ first encounter with the creatures (by having Gaia berries licked off of his face by the giant rodent), Merlin and Lancelot rode up to a lodge in the woods, ready to retire for the night before the Dorocha made their appearances.

They entered to find dead animals hanging from the ceiling.

“Hello?” Lancelot greeted as he took in his surroundings, searching for any form of danger, preparing to protect his precious charge.

They saw a man sitting at a table and when he turned out to be frozen dead, they laid him down and covered him with a blanket at the back of the cottage.

“We can't stay here.”

Despite his dream, Merlin was still nervous about facing the Dorocha.

“There's nowhere else, Merlin. We'll make a fire. It will keep us safe and dry. And there's more than enough fuel to get us through the night,” Lancelot said consolingly.

He didn’t like to see Merlin scared.

The warlock studied his friend, took courage and comfort from the knight and turned to the grille that Lancelot had loaded with some woods, “Yep. Bel onbryne,” he said with both hands over the contraption.

His eyes glowed gold and a strong fire started beneath his hands.

He sighed with relief. His father was right. His power worked and came easily so long as he did not let despair overwhelm him.

“I'm not entirely useless, you know,” he said with a smile at Lancelot’s surprised look.

Lancelot just smiled back at him, fond and almost absurdly happy.                     

They settled for the night and as with the previous night, they slept huddled close to each other.

A few hours into a deep sleep, Merlin felt a sudden chill engulfed him which alerted him to the presence of a Dorocha.

He startled awake to find Lancelot’s arm around him, as protective as when he woke the morning before.

The Dorocha charged towards them.

He shook his friend awake, “Lancelot!” and threw a hand outward towards the Dorocha.

A ball of fire emerged from his opened palm and managed to temporarily disperse the creature.

Even as the creature reassembled, more Dorocha made their appearances.

Merlin and Lancelot ran outside into the pitch darkness of the early morning.

Even though his powers were working properly again, there were too many Dorocha, all of them moving faster than Merlin thought he could handle.

He threw his head back and shouted as they ran through the forest trying desperately to outrun the creatures, “O drakon! E male so ftengometta tesd ‘hup’ anankes!”

A distant beating of the wind can be sharply heard at regular intervals.

A shadow passed overhead becoming larger and larger as it moved swiftly towards the warlock and the knight.

An enraged roar filtered down through the sky and a huge discharge of fire filled the cool early morning air, blasting the Dorocha several at a time.

The forest opened to a clearing.

Lancelot drew his sword and tried to push Merlin behind him even as he stared in stunned disbelieve at the huge dragon that landed in front of them.

There was no more Dorocha in sight but the knight wasn’t sure which was the greater threat, Dorocha or dragon. Still, he just got his best friend back. He would  _not_ lose him again.

He stepped bravely forward to strike the dragon but was shocked still when Merlin held out a hand to stop him.

“It's alright. It's alright,” Merlin said, patting his arm soothingly.

Lancelot watched in awe as Merlin looked up at the dragon and bowed slightly in obvious greeting.

“Thank you,” his best friend said casually as though talking to a dragon was something Merlin did all the time.

Still dazed in amazement, Lancelot silently conceded to himself that Merlin probably did.

As close as they were and Lancelot was sure that with the exception of Gaius, Merlin confided in him more than anyone else, his friend was still too used to keeping things to himself.

When he didn’t think he could be anymore surprised, _the dragon_ bowed to _Merlin_ in obvious obeisance and turned to glare at him in a gesture that showed protectiveness towards his friend and…talked!

“Who is your friend?” Kilgharrah growled out.

“Kilgharrah, this is Lancelot. Lancelot, meet Kilgharrah,” Merlin introduced them calmly.

Upon hearing the name, Kilgharrah looked thoughtful, “Of course. Sir Lancelot, the bravest and most noble of them all,” he said in greeting to the knight.

“I'm not sure that's true,” the humble knight replied hesitantly.

“We shall see. For now, there are more pressing things at hand. The Dorocha cannot be allowed to remain in this world. The sundered veil must be restored.”

“We're on our way to the Isle of the Blessed to help Arthur heal it,” Lancelot offered the information.

“Indeed,” Kilgharrah acknowledged but posed the inevitable question, “But at what price?”

“I know that the spirit world demands a sacrifice,” Merlin responded, half resigned, definitely determined.

“It demands nothing. It is the Cailleach, the gatekeeper to the spirit world who asks such a price,” Kilgharrah replied in disdain.

“And there is no other way?”

Merlin was almost hopeful. If anyone could come up with a solution, surely the Great Dragon could.

“There is not. The sacrifice she demands must be made for the veil to be repaired.”

“Then I have no choice. Arthur intends to sacrifice himself to heal the veil. I must take his place.”

“Merlin, you must not do this. You are too important,” the Great Dragon implored, “If you were to die, you would endanger the lives of all those that rely upon you, every magical creature and the future of magic itself.”

“It is my destiny to protect Arthur. You taught me that.”

Kilgharrah shook his head, “It will be an empty world without you, young warlock.”

If dragons could beg, Lancelot thought that was what Kilgharrah’s proclamation sounded like.

“I have one last request, old friend,” Merlin was undeterred but his affection and fondness for the dragon was as apparent as the dragon’s affection and fondness for him, “We need to get to Arthur, fast. One last ride, Kilgharrah?” he requested almost playfully.

Arthur was relieved to be right. It was dawn when they reached the other side of the mountain by going through the Tunnel of Andors, saving days off of their journey.

He was quiet as he washed his face and arms off of the Gaia berries stains, so lost in thoughts and almost unaware of the other knights doing the same.

“I’m sorry I lost my temper before,” Gwaine’s grudging admission almost startled him.

He looked up to see the other knights exchanging knowing looks before leaving them to have their talk in private and was grateful for it.

“But I’m not sorry for what I said. I meant them, Arthur.”

Arthur nodded curtly but said nothing, continued washing himself without a word.

Gwaine wasn’t discouraged, “I have to say my piece and get this out of my chest. I don’t want things to fester and for us to end up at odds with one another.”

The prince tried to scoff at that remark, “Gwaine, one thing that you have absolutely _no problem with_ is voicing your thoughts. That’s one of the things you have the most in common with Merlin. You’re both outrageously frank and insolent. It’s no wonder the two of you got along so well.”

He looked Gwaine in the eye and knew that the knight could see right through him, saw the hidden compliment and fondness disguised as a complaint and sarcasm.

He saw the knight nodded in acknowledgment but also saw the lift in Gwaine’s chin which meant that he was preparing for a fight that he was not willing to lose, “You’re callous with him Arthur, the way you aren’t with anyone else.”

Before Arthur could defend himself, Gwaine raised his hand almost placatorily and continued, “I know you care about him and that it’s your usual way with him. But sometimes you go too far.”

“He gave back as good as he gets.”

The prince’s almost-flippant response set Gwaine off, his anger resurfaced all over again.

“Just because he talks back and laughs it off doesn’t mean that your words don’t get to him. Some of the things you say to him, Arthur, are hurtful and downright mean. He doesn’t need you putting him down. He already placed so little value on himself! He takes care of everyone, Arthur. _You_ , most of all! For goodness sake, he even combs your hair for you. He _spoils_ you, Arthur! How many servants do you know stays up all night to write speeches for their master? Heck, most servants aren’t even literate! It’s not his duty. And do you know how much he has to do, between you and Gaius and even Geoffrey and us knights? You’re always calling him lazy but name a time when he’s not there with a helping hand! He almost _never_ says no to people, always sacrificing himself for everyone else. It’s like he didn’t think he mattered. Like everyone else is more important than him and I think that you’re partly responsible for it.”

The truth in Gwaine’s words almost had Arthur flinching.

But the prince was already at the end of his nerve as it was and offence often was the best defence, “You’re holding _me_ responsible for the idiot’s self sacrificing tendency? You think I _want_ to see him sacrifice himself?”

Despite the words, the sneer and outrage Arthur had aimed for came out as hurt and desperation instead.

Gwaine deflated. His expression gentled. Merlin would rather die than to see Arthur hurt. He would not have wanted this anger that Gwaine had on his behalf, not if it meant Arthur’s pain.

“I’m saying that Merlin is the kindest person there is. I’m saying that that selfless heart of his is both a curse and a gift. It makes him the best friend anyone could ask for. But that kind of devotion is always, _always_ so easy to be taken advantage of and it is even easier to be taken for granted. He puts everyone before himself. He puts _you_ before everyone. It worries me that without meaning to, you might take advantage. It hurts me when you took for granted, sometimes on purpose. And it makes me angry that you can’t even bring yourself to acknowledge that he’s your friend most of the time, that you can’t show him that he matters. _That’s_ what I’m saying,” he explained softly, gently, hoping for the prince to understand his grievances with the situation.

“He’s my best friend. Of course he matters,” Arthur whispered after a prolonged silence.

Gwaine smiled, warm and friendly once again, “Then I suggest you let him know that, yeah?”

Arthur smiled back. It was a small curve of the lips but it broke the tension.

Gwaine’s smile became a wide grin which prompted the prince to huff out, “I’m not a girl and neither is he no matter how many times I called him that.”

Gwaine rolled his eyes, “Letting someone see your affection does not make you a girl, princess!”

Since they left their horses before entering the Tunnel of Andors, Arthur and the knights were on foot. They were less than two days away from the Isle of the Blessed and should be there some time the following day.

They were extra vigilant. There was no point to getting this far only to be defeated before they reach their destination.

A sound alerted them to a presence and their hands went straight to their swords.

It was early morning yet but the sun was out. They knew it could not have been the Dorocha. But there were other dangers, hopefully ones that could be fought with mortal weapons.

They each held their defensive stance until _Lancelot_ stepped into their sights.

Arthur blinked in disbelieve, “Lancelot?” he asked almost doubtfully.

He was having trouble breathing. “How's Merlin?”

Lancelot looked solemn and grave, “Bad news.”

Arthur’s chest clenched tighter. He couldn’t breathe _at all anymore_.

Lancelot’s face broke into a smile.

“He's still alive,” the knight announced with a huge grin and stepped aside to allow Merlin into view.

Arthur could suddenly breathe again.

His whole body almost sagged with relief.

Elyan exclaimed in obvious joy “Merlin!” and Arthur let out a weak chuckle.

If Elyan could see Merlin, obviously _he_ himself could not be hallucinating. Surely, this was real and not wishful thinking on his part!

He shook Lancelot’s hand heartily, expressing his gratitude without words and turned to stare at Merlin.

He stared as everyone greeted him, watched dazedly as Leon ruffled the messy raven hair and blinked back tears as Gwaine hugged his best friend tightly.

Merlin finally turned to face him.

The knights discreetly moved away.

Arthur and Merlin continued to stare at one another.

Arthur nodded to himself a few times as if to reassure himself that he really wasn’t dreaming.

He reached out a hand to squeeze Merlin’s shoulder, “Good to see you, Merlin.”

The greeting came out awkward despite the huge relief that he was sure was mirrored by his equally huge grin that he could not hide, _did not want to_ hide.

He didn’t know why he was feeling so jumpy. Excitement and nerves mingled with happiness and a sort of giddiness.

A slow dazzling smile swept across Merlin’s features and the effect on his face was as dramatic as the effect on Arthur’s nervous system.

His heart turned over in his chest with Merlin’s soft, “Yeah. It's good to see you too.”

Merlin was quite beautiful, his errant mind voiced out.

There was another moment of staring before Arthur gave in to the urge to touch.

His hand went to the side of Merlin’s face, lingered for a moment, then moved to the back of Merlin’s head to bring him closer in a one-armed hug.

His arm stayed around Merlin for awhile as they made their way ahead.

“How did you survive, Merlin?” Elyan wanted to know.

“You couldn’t have made it back to Camelot or you would not have been able to catch up with us,” Leon added, directing his questioning look to Lancelot.

“It was the Vilia,” Lancelot replied.

He didn’t see the need to lie about it. Compared to a ride on the back of a Great Dragon, which was quite a surreal experience on a completely different level, it wasn’t something to hide. After all, Merlin’s magic would still remain a secret.

At Lancelot’s answer, both Percival and Merlin asked simultaneously, “The Vilia?”

But while Percival’s query was out of curiosity, Merlin was clearly bemused.

“They said that they were spirits of the brooks and streams and that the tear in the veil allowed good spirits as well as bad to roam freely,” Lancelot explained.

Elyan turned to the servant, “You didn’t know?” he asked curiously.

Merlin shrugged, “I was unconscious. But I thought it was…” he caught himself in time.

“Who did you think it was, Merlin?” Lancelot asked gently before he could stop himself.

It probably wasn’t a good idea for him to ask since Merlin had stopped himself but the expression on Merlin’s face caused Lancelot’s concern to override his caution.

Merlin gave a rueful smile. He would give the truth as much as he could. He would not lie unnecessarily to his friends on what may be his last days with them.

So he said simply, “Balinor. I dreamt of him the night before I regained consciousness.”

This time it was everyone but Leon and Arthur who asked the question, “Balinor?”

“You dreamt of Balinor?” Arthur prodded, curious as to why it was the man that appeared to Merlin.

Gwaine turned to Arthur, “Who’s Balinor?” he asked.

“He was the last Dragonlord,” Leon answered, a speculative look on his face after a quick glance to Merlin which did not go unnoticed by Gwaine.

Leon’s answer put a contemplative look on Lancelot’s face which in turn did not go unnoticed by Arthur.

“He died about three years ago,” the prince told the knight.

“Saving my life…,” Merlin added softly.

Evening was once again approaching but everyone was determined to make it to an old, abandoned keep just a few hours before the bodies of water that surrounded the Isle of the Blessed.

Lancelot called out to Merlin who was leading the way in front with Arthur, “Are you warm enough, Merlin?” he asked in concern.

“I’m alright, Lance,” the warlock replied reassuringly.

The knight took off his cloak, walked to the front and handed it to the warlock, “You haven’t fully recovered. You need to keep warm.”

When Merlin just looked at him with a raised brow, the noble knight shook his head and started to pull the cloak over his best friend’s shoulders, tucking it around him to make sure he was warm enough while Merlin rolled his eyes good-naturedly at the knight’s protectiveness.

Once satisfied, Lancelot nodded in acknowledgement at Arthur who was standing next to Merlin, gently pulled Merlin’s head towards him by the back of his neck and dropped a tender kiss on the top of Merlin’s head before moving back to walk with Percival and Gwaine at the end of the line, oblivious to the surprise on Arthur’s face and Elyan and Leon’s speculative looks at his more-than-usual-show of affection.

Lancelot would not have cared anyway. He had come to a decision. He needed for Merlin to know how much he meant to him. For if Merlin intended to sacrifice himself for Arthur, Lancelot intended to sacrifice himself for Merlin and he _needed_ for Merlin to be aware that it was done out of love and affection, not out of duty or some twisted obligation.

Hence, Lancelot was showing that he cared, regardless of propriety.

When Lancelot rejoined him and Percival at the end of the line, Gwaine tilted his head to Percival, a motion to signal that he needed a moment in private with the noble knight.

Understanding, the tallest of the Round Table Knights moved forward to join Leon and Elyan in the middle of their formation.

Gwaine watched Merlin with Arthur for a moment, still trying to convince himself that his friend was indeed alright.

The relief he had felt at seeing Merlin alive and well was so great and he was so grateful to Lancelot.

He turned his gaze to the noble knight, studied him for a moment as he slowed his stride.

“Thank you,” he said in earnest, uncharacteristically solemn.

Lancelot met his gaze questioningly, his own pace slowed to match Gwaine’s.

Gwaine took a deep breath and nodded in Merlin’s direction, “For Merlin. For bringing him back safe,” he clarified.

“He’s my best friend,” Lancelot’s reply was softly given, filled with a fondness that touched Gwaine’s heart more than he cared to admit.

“Mine too,” he volunteered in return.

Lancelot nodded. His smile was wistful. “I know.”

Gwaine tilted his head to study Lancelot better. The usually calm man seemed to be troubled and looked as though to be contemplating something.

Gwaine waited. He could be patient when he had to.

He had a feeling that whatever that was about to come out of Lancelot’s mouth would be of terrible importance.

Lancelot seemed to come to a decision and with that came his usual calm acceptance that Gwaine was used to.

By silent agreement, they slowed down even more to lag a distance behind in order to have their conversation without the chance of being overheard by the others.

“I love Merlin,” the noble knight started. His voice soft but filled with conviction. “I would die for him,” he stated simply while looking at Gwaine intently as if waiting to be contradicted.

Gwaine maintained his silence. He knew Lancelot was telling the truth.

Lancelot took a deep breath and continued, “Gaius seemed to think that the only way to close the tear in the veil is by blood sacrifice.”

Dread pooled in Gwaine’s gut. He didn’t want to hear what was coming next. Already knew what Lancelot was about to say, and was shaken to the core all the same upon hearing, “Tomorrow, once we get to the Isle of the Blessed, Arthur plans to sacrifice himself. Merlin plans to take his place.”

“You intend to sacrifice yourself for him, for Merlin,” Gwaine didn’t ask, he didn’t need to. It was a statement, not a question.

“Wouldn’t you? Lay your life for him? I know you love him as much as I do.”

“I would. I do.”

“I need you to promise me that you’ll take care of him. Never let him feel like he’s alone. I know he’s always smiling but he’s very good at hiding his sufferings and he _has_ suffered, _a lot_.” Lancelot shook his head sadly, “And I don’t even know the half of it. He keeps them all inside, so used to facing everything on his own, suffering in silence.”

“He’ll blame himself.”

Lancelot nodded in acknowledgment, “He would.”

He stared at the ground for a moment before meeting Gwaine’s eyes, “Tell him that if there was any other way, I’d stay, just as I promised I would. Tell him that I _want_ to stay but I _need_ for him to survive, that I’d die a thousand times over to make it so. Tell him that I’m _sorry_ I had to break my word but that this was _my_ choice. And tell him that I love him. Make sure that he _knows_ that I love him.”

Gwaine felt like screaming his anger and grief at the unfairness of the situation.

All the wariness and insecurity he had felt with regard to Lancelot felt so petty all of a sudden.

So what if Merlin had chosen to confide in Lancelot instead of Gwaine? He didn’t confide in the princess either and anyone who had ever seen Merlin look at Arthur knew that it was the princess that mattered the most to Merlin, that it was Arthur who would always come first to him.

As it turned out, Lancelot was proving to be more than worthy of Merlin’s confidence and devotion.

Gwaine felt like he had missed the chance at a friendship that would have been legendary if only for their shared devotion to Merlin.

And his heart wept at the devastation the lost of this one friend would _surely_ cause his Merlin, _their_ Merlin.

“I’ll keep him safe, or die trying.” Gwaine promised resolutely.

“Not just safe. Keep him _happy_. Tell him that it’s okay to be sad but don’t be sad for too long. Tell him that I _want_ him to be happy.”

Lancelot could not bear the thought of sacrificing himself to save Merlin’s life only to end up being the one to break his spirit.

  

 *****End Chapter 3*****  

 

 

 **Bonus Material:** 'What's That Wildren Eating?' @When Merlin found out that Arthur did **_NOT_**  know if Gaia Berries would work or not… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Pictures for a) The chapter cover: Taken from Episode 4.02: The Darkest Hour (Part 2). b)"What's that Wildren Eating?": Taken from Episode 2.04: Lancelot & Guinevere.  
>  2\. A lot of dialogues are from Episode 4.02 (with some adjustments and sequences rearranged) with smaller amounts of dialogues from Episodes 2.04: Lancelot & Guinevere, 2.07: The Witchfinder and 5.12: The Diamond of the Day (Part 1).  
>  3\. 'Balinor's Death' is referenced from Episode 2.13: The Last Dragonlord.  
>  4\. 'Balinor's spirit motivation to Merlin' is an edited dialogue from Episode 5.12.  
>  5\. Kilgharrah's dialogue is an edited combination of dialogues from scenes in Episodes 4.02 and 2.07.


	5. Dragonlord Discovered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still in "Episode 4.02: The Darkest Hour (Part 2)" verse. Though, this chapter will contain (somewhat) new materials (diverging from the episode). 
> 
> 11 days has passed since Samhain/beginning of the story and as the chapter title suggests, Arthur and the knights discovered a certain heritage of our young warlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter also contains:  
> 1\. Scenes/references to Episodes 2.13: The Last Dragonlord, 3.08: The Eye of the Phoenix and 2.08: The Sins of the Father.  
> 2\. Dialogues from Episode 2.13 and Episode 3.04: Gwaine.  
> 3\. Smaller references to Episodes 1.04: The Poisoned Chalice, 1.05: Lancelot and 1.13: Le Morte d'Arthur.

** Chapter 4: Dragonlord Discovered **

 

** **

 

Merlin believed that it wasn’t just his duty to protect Arthur’s life but also his duty to safeguard the prince’s heart. With that in mind, he gave the prince a slight nudge as they headed towards the abandoned keep that was even then in their line of vision, though still a bit of a walk away.

“It's going to be fine. Everything will be alright,” he assured.

He couldn’t bear for Arthur to be scared or sad.

“I'm just tired.”

“You don't have to sacrifice yourself.”

Arthur shrugged, tried to be nonchalant for Merlin’s sake, “To save my people.”

“I will take your place.”

The prince stared at Merlin.

He had known how consuming Merlin’s devotion was to him, learned it first and first-hand when the servant had drunk poison for him, knowingly and without hesitation.

It baffled him then and it baffled him still but he was somehow not surprised, not anymore.

He shook his head, “Merlin,” he chided softly, careful not to show the emotion that was welling up inside him, a surge of affection and gratitude that would not go away.

“What is the life of a servant compared to that of a prince?” Merlin insisted.

“Well, a good servant's hard to come by.”

“I'm not that good.”

“True.”

It was almost too easy to go back to their old ways of bantering, to hide his fondness behind mockery but Arthur remembered his conversation with Gwaine, remembered the despair he had felt when he had thought that Merlin was lost to him forever.

“You were never meant to be a servant. You became one because you saved my life,” he said solemnly.

He stopped walking and turned to face Merlin.

“When I’m gone,” he held up a hand to stop the servant from interrupting and continued before Merlin could get a word in, “There’s no reason for you to continue as a servant.”

That said, the prince turned and started walking again.

Merlin was having none of that. “I told you before, I'm happy to be your servant. Till the day I die,” he huffed out.

“I remember.”

And Arthur did remember.

The memory of the conversation they had had after his recovery from the questing beast bite had stayed with him even after more than four years. It was as though Merlin was saying goodbye to him.

The recollection tightened his chest and Arthur absentmindedly pressed a hand to his heart.

“So serve me till the day _I die_ and serve no one else _after_ ,” he said with forced lightness and went for a change of subject, “Just one thing. Look after Guinevere. I want her to be happy in her life. She deserves that.”

“Don't worry. I'll make sure.”

“I’m sure Lancelot’s presence will help greatly.”

Merlin glanced sharply at Arthur, “Gwen loves you and you’ll never find a more loyal knight than Lancelot,” he said both to console his prince and in Lancelot and Guinevere’s defence.

“He still loves her, doesn’t he?”

“Arthur…”

“You don’t have to lie to me. I’m not blind you know.”

“You can’t choose who you love. You can only choose what you do about it and Lancelot would never betray you.”

“He cares for you.”

Slightly nonplussed by the sudden change of topic but unperturbed nonetheless, Merlin shrugged, “He cares for everyone. That’s just the man that Lancelot is.”

“He _loves_ you.”

Still bemused but unperturbed with the direction of the conversation, Merlin replied simply, “He said as much.”

“He said so? To your face?”

Arthur was shocked by the revelation.

Merlin laughed a little. “Really clotpole, not everyone have trouble admitting that they care about their friends.”

 _Oh. **That** kind of love_, Arthur’s treacherous heart calmed. He absolutely refused to acknowledge the relief he was feeling.

Instead, he rolled his eyes, “If I call someone a friend, _of course_ , I’d care. It shouldn’t have to be said, _Mer_ lin,” he retorted, resorting back to their usual bantering, “I’m really fortunate that none of my other friends are girls who needs to be reassured of their importance _all the time_.”

Merlin bit his lip so that he wouldn’t smile.

It was useless.

He had almost missed it but he was pretty sure that the prince had just referred to him as a friend. His lips curved up slowly and teasing, “Oh dollop head, have I been remiss in assuring you of your importance?” he asked, throwing back the prince’s words at him.

His gleeful laughter as he tried to avoid Arthur’s aim to cuff the side of his head warmed everyone’s heart.

Maybe it was because the Isle of the Blessed was the Centre of the Old Religion where its power was the greatest or it could be because Emrys was the religion’s greatest creation, the embodiment of magic itself. Whatever the reason, Merlin’s laughter carried to the Isle, alerting the Cailleach to the approaching party and their whereabouts.

“They are close. By tomorrow, they’ll be here,” she spoke softly to herself and looked up to the sky, to the circling wyverns charged with the protection of the Isle by the long gone High Priestesses and their Blood Guards.

“Before that, lets see if the young Pendragon is worthy of being the Once and Future King, worthy of Emrys’s devotion and loyalty,” she said and raised her staff towards the wyverns, commanding, “Go. You know where to find them. It is your duty to protect this place. Show no mercy. They won’t need it if Emrys choose to be true to his heritage, true to himself and who he is...in front of his King. Make him stop hiding.”

The gatekeeper to the spirit world gazed into the night, saw what the mortal eyes could not see, and went back to murmuring softly, “His guardian knights are with him. If they can keep Emrys alive, their lives will be spared,” she said, referring to two knights in particular.

She shifted her magical gaze to seek a would-be-King, found the foreign sensation of hope began to form when she found him at the front of the party coming to face her, laughing fondly with a certain all-powerful warlock.

“If he proved worthy of Emrys’s trust, he would get the gift he deserved. He won’t see it as such, not yet. No matter…they _are_ destined.”

She raised her staff again, pointed it in the direction of the party of seven, created a magical guide for the Dorocha to follow once the creatures were ready to ‘come out and play’, ensuring that as many as possible would be drawn to the marked path.

Fear and despair were, after all, powerful motivators and it is high time for Emrys to step out of the shadows.

The wyverns came out of nowhere, over a dozen of them.

Windows and roof thatch decayed from years of abandonment would still have been adequate covers from the Dorocha.

They however, fell away easily from the force of the winged beasts that screeched loudly as they made their entrance into the rustic keep.

It wasn’t long before even the walls gave way, leaving the group from Camelot completely vulnerable to the onslaught of attacks.

Every single one of them, with the exception of Merlin, had their swords raised.

“There are too many of them!” Leon shouted as he slashed at one of the creatures heading his way while dodging another.

“How do we defeat them?” Percival asked though to no one in particular.

“Like this!” Gwaine gritted out as he lunged forward and plunged his sword into one.

Lancelot slashed at another while keeping a hand splayed wide in a futile effort to stay Merlin from coming out from behind him.

Percival fell to the ground as a wyvern made its mark on his arm, shouting as he went down, “Gwaine! Behind you!”

Blood gushed out from nasty slashes on the giant knight’s wounded limb.

Elyan rolled down and managed to avoid the same fate just in time.

Arthur fought as he took everything in, as if time itself had slowed down.

It suddenly occurred to the prince that Merlin had no swords, no weapons of any kind, no _way_ of defending himself.

With his heart frozen in his chest and terror filling his gut, he looked around frantically, desperate to make sure that the servant was alright.

 _What the hell was he thinking?_   He should _never_   have brought the idiot with him. Merlin wasn’t a warrior!

Gwaine was right after all.

Without meaning to, he _had_ taken advantage.

He _knew_   Merlin would come with him. He _wanted_   Merlin to come. He didn’t even have to ask, simply took for granted that Merlin _would_   come, because that simply was the way they were, the way they had _always_   been.

He could’ve ordered Merlin to stay behind. Not that the idiot would have listened to him. But he hadn’t even bothered trying.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had known, had _always_ known, that even if he had chosen to walk through _hell_   itself, Merlin would have come _with_   him or _after_   him. And Arthur would not have stopped him.

It was their way. It had _always_   been their way. Merlin went where he went, _always_.

Even through the worst of circumstances, with no matter how many knights, citizens, _people_ that came and went, either of their own accord, by force, through deaths, injuries or otherwise, Merlin _stayed._

Merlin _stayed_   or Merlin _came back_.

Either way, Merlin was _always there_.

 _Merlin_ was his constant, almost since the day they met, Merlin’s faith, Merlin’s loyalty, Merlin’s devotion, Merlin’s _presence_.

 _How_ had _that_   happened?

“No, no, no, no!” Elyan’s denial brought him out of his stupor of a realisation that was almost paralysing.

The knight pushed him out of the way of an incoming wyvern, grunting when claws dig deep into the back of one of his shoulders.

“Arthur!” Merlin shouted.

To Arthur’s complete horror, Lancelot’s dismay and Gwaine’s terror, their best friend stepped out into the open.

Lancelot moved to pull Merlin behind him even as Gwaine shouted “Merlin!”

Merlin dodged Lancelot’s hold, ignored Gwaine’s call as he tried to get to his prince.

“The Dorocha are coming,” Leon’s shout stopped Merlin in his track.

He appeared lost and confused for a moment as he looked around as if finally seeing the perilous predicament they were in.

Elyan’s shout brought him back, “Wyverns and Dorocha! We can’t fight them all!”

“We don’t have any cover!” Percival said as he looked around assessing their position, “We’re completely in the open!”

The eerie sounds of the Dorocha got louder, a sure indication of their impending arrival.

More than a dozen wyverns circled the sky above them, coming closer and closer, slowly but surely closing the seven of them into a tighter circle, ripe for the picking and Merlin…just stood there, tall and straight, completely exposed and _weaponless_.

Arthur looked on in horror as he saw the wyverns zooming down towards Merlin, poised for an attack that would no doubt prove fatal.

Even before it registered in his mind, he was already rushing towards Merlin, intent on tugging him down.

He’d keep Merlin under him if he had to. Surely that would keep the idiot safe if he had the sense not to move from there, even if it was from under Arthur’s own lifeless body, the prince thought desperately.

He stopped short in his track when the servant raised his raven head to the sky.

Words, foreign and powerful came out of Merlin’s mouth, a deafening roar, formidable and commanding.

Arthur watched, completely bewildered, shocked and amazed.

As impossible as it was, the wyverns came to an abrupt halt.

Every single one of them paused in their attack.

All but one, bowed to _Merlin_ mid-air before flying back up, forming a moving circle of protection from dozens upon dozens of Dorocha, more Dorocha than any of them had ever seen all at once.

The one that did not join the others landed right in front of his idiot, his bumbling, clumsy _Merlin_   and bowed in complete obeisance and _stayed_   bowed, as if awaiting instructions.

To Arthur’s utter astonishment, Merlin started to…converse? Communicate...with the creature?

Arthur wasn’t even sure what word to use to describe what he was seeing. Except that his Merlin was no longer a clumsy bumbling servant.

Merlin was… almost… regal, like a _lord_ , commanding his subject.

And like a lord, Merlin once again raised his head to the sky, let out another roar, a definite, clear command.

Arthur didn’t even realised when but the knights had all gathered and stood by him, watching as he was, incredulous as he was, when six more wyverns landed right in front of them, lowered their bodies and…waited.

The silence in the cave where the wyverns had dropped them was deafening.

Merlin tried to maintain the appearance of calm as he tended to Elyan’s and Percival’s wound, tried to ignore everyone’s eyes that he felt searing through him.

Lancelot gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze in silent support.

Still, his mind raced and his heart was pounding, like the hooves of galloping horses.

It didn’t help that the cave reminded him so much of his father’s cave. Deep and secluded, it even had a stream right outside of its entrance where two wyverns had remained to guard it against the Dorocha.

He tried to blink back tears, both from panic and guilt, also from the painful reminder.

His hand shook as he bound Percival’s arm.

“What the hell was that?!” Arthur couldn’t keep it in anymore.

They had _flown_ on _wyverns_!

They had _bloody **flown**_! Up in the sky on the backs of _bloody **wyverns**_! _Monstrous_ , winged creatures, whose usual sport was to _hunt_   humans, not **_carry_**   them as passengers!

He didn’t even know it was _possible_ to _ride_   a wyvern!

As Merlin slowly straightened up to face him, Arthur didn’t miss Gwaine’s and Lancelot’s immediate move to flank the servant, noted the defensive stance both took. Even the normally restrained Lancelot wasn’t able to be subtle about it.

He narrowed his eyes at them.

They _knew_! Arthur _knew_   they knew!

“You!” he glared at them accusingly, “You two knew about this, didn’t you? Knew that he…”

His accusing look went to Merlin before going back to Lancelot and Gwaine almost immediately.

He found that he _couldn’t_   look at Merlin, not into those eyes.

Eyes he trusted more than anyone’s.

If he couldn’t trust _**Merlin** , _his world would no longer make sense.

 ** _Nothing_** would ever be right again.

He was at a loss for words as he tried to put his questions forward coherently, struggling to hold on to his sanity, refusing to believe the crazy voice in his head.

“How is it possible? It wasn’t… was it… _magic_?” the last word came out reluctantly, breathlessly, no more than a whisper.

His eyes wide with disbelieve and pain from a perceived betrayal.

It was Leon’s voice, spoken quietly but clearly, that answered his question, “It’s not magic, Sire. He’s a Dragonlord.”

“What?” Everyone, Merlin included, gasped at the statement. For it _was_ a statement, not a question.

“How did you…” Merlin started to ask in complete surprise.

“It’s true?” Elyan asked Merlin disbelievingly.

“But you said that the last Dragonlord…died three years ago,” Percival questioned Leon at the same time.

Of everyone, Leon chose to address Merlin, “I saw you stopped the Great Dragon. It had hit Arthur unconscious. You walked right up to it, took command of it, much as you did with the wyverns just now.”

Arthur forced himself to look Merlin in the eyes, “Merlin?” His voice was small.

He didn’t want to know the answer. But he _had_ to know.

Merlin closed his eyes tightly and swallowed and then forced himself to meet Arthur’s gaze.

There was an overwhelming sadness about him that tugged at Arthur’s heart as he finally spoke, “A Dragonlord’s gift is passed from father to son…upon death.”

Arthur’s breath caught in his throat.

For a moment, his mind went dead, completely blanked, as though the switch had been shut off.

He couldn’t feel his hands, his feet, nor could he feel his heart.

Then, a lump of emotions swelled in his chest as understanding dawned and disbelieve warred with guilt and grief, “Balinor… he… was your father?”

He already knew the answer. It came out as a question nonetheless, followed by an almost accusatory, “You said you didn’t know your father.”

“I didn’t know…before… Gaius… told me, just before we were about to leave in search of him.”

Merlin’s response felt like a punch to Arthur’s gut. His hand went to his mouth to keep himself from crying out loud.

His mind reeled back to three years ago.

Merlin’s subdued behaviour as they went in search for Balinor started to make sense.

Suddenly his mind was transported back to a point in time not long after Balinor’s death.

He was in his chamber, Merlin helping him with his armour.

_“Well, look on the bright side, Merlin. Chances are… you're not going to have to clean this again.”_

He had mocked his servant back then, to try and make light of how terrified he was at having to face the Great Dragon.

Merlin hadn’t risen to the bait. He had been sombre, had spoken with authority.

 _“You must be careful today. Do not force the battle._ _Let matters take their course_.”

Now he understood why.

What he failed to understand was _how_   Merlin was able to _smile_   at him, to find the courage to go with him and faced a dragon right after losing his _father_.

The rest of the conversation played in his mind.

_“Merlin, if I die, please... “_

_“What?”_

_“The Dragonlord today...I saw you. One thing I tell all my young knights, no man is worth your tears.”_

_No wonder_ Merlin had looked so stricken at that remark.

He had meant to comfort, to _console_ , just in case _he_   did not make it.

He had ended up belittling Merlin’s lost instead. The lost of his _father_ , not even a day passed.

God help him, he had even complained as they were tending to Balinor’s remains, and complained some more on the way back to Camelot, as though the death of the man had been an _inconvenience_.  

What Merlin must’ve been feeling then!

But he had simply maintained his silence, not once lashing out at Arthur, not in anger, nor in blame.

And faced with his callous remark of no man being worth his tears, Merlin had gathered his wit, had forced a smile - Arthur _knew_   it was forced even back then- had tried to make light of things by joking, _“Yeah. You're certainly not.”_

He had tried to comfort _Arthur_   when _he_   was the one needing comforting.

He had picked up a sword as Arthur had picked up his own.

_“What are you doing?”_

_“I'm coming with you.”_

_“Merlin, the chances are I'm going to die.”_

_“Yeah, you probably would if I wasn't there.”_

Dear Lord, he had scoffed at that and it turned out that Merlin was simply stating a fact.

He had been incredulous.

_“Are you really going to face this dragon with me?”_

If he was honest with himself, he was _still_   incredulous.

Merlin should have been _angry_   with him.

Merlin should have been _blaming_ him for his father’s death.

Merlin should have been _grieving_   his father.

Instead, Merlin had gone with him to face the dragon.

Merlin had let _him_   take the credit for the dragon’s defeat.

Merlin hadn’t said _a word_   about his part in it.

He didn’t know what to do with that knowledge.

He didn’t know what words he could say to Merlin.

So he faced Leon instead.

“You saw him?” He asked his first knight.

“Yes, Sire.”

“Yet you didn’t see fit to tell me.”

“Sire—“, Merlin tried to intervene. It wasn’t fair that Leon should carry the burden of _his_   secret and be punished for it.

Instinctively knowing Merlin’s intent, Leon held out a hand to stop him.

Merlin was too selfless for his own good and it made Leon glad that he had kept his silence.

But Leon’s first loyalty was to his prince. And so he tried to explain himself, “I was barely conscious myself at the time and thought that I had hallucinated the whole incident. By the time I realised…well,” he looked almost defiant as he continued, “Merlin saved us, saved Camelot. The King said that the Dragonlord was to be rewarded should he proved successful in containing the dragon, that he would not be harmed. I thought that the courtesy extended to Merlin. I thought if he didn’t want his deed to be known, he had earned that right.”

“You thought—“,

“Princess, everyone, even a servant, is entitled to keep _some_   things to themselves. You can’t know _everything_   about someone. It’s just not possible. Even the person you think you know best, there will always be something new to learn about them,” Gwaine intervened before Arthur could interrogate Leon further, the wisdom in his words surprising the others into maintaining their silence.

Except for Arthur, whose frustration changed direction, “But this isn’t new to you, is it? You already knew,” the prince lashed out accusingly.

“Yes,” Gwaine answered simply, calmly.

Arthur turned to Merlin at the same time Lancelot turned to Gwaine.

“You told _him_?” _But not me_ was not said out loud but heard clearly in the hurt that was evident in Arthur’s tone.

“You already knew?” Lancelot asked, wide eyed with surprise.

Gwaine scoffed at Arthur, “Don’t be silly princess. He doesn’t even know I know.”

“How did you…” Merlin faltered. He was feeling like a broken musical instrument repeating the same sound over and over again.

Leon knew. Gwaine knew. He was beyond shocked.

Gwaine’s expression softened when he turned to Merlin, “I found out at the Fisher King’s palace,” he clarified for his friend.

“But you never said anything.”

There was wonder in Merlin’s voice.

“I figured if or when you want me to know, you’d tell me yourself.”

Understanding was reflected in Gwaine’s eyes. Love and devotion was there for all to see.

Merlin didn’t trust himself to speak but gratitude shone from his eyes, along with amazement and genuine adoration.

“The two of you were at the Fisher King's palace… during Arthur’s quest?”

The question came from Leon, quiet and guarded. The quest was supposed to be a solo endeavour, a rite of ritual for Camelot’s Crown Prince.

Gwaine turned to the ginger-haired knight, “Merlin thought Arthur was in trouble. He searched for me in Angard. We journeyed to the Perilous Land from there,” he answered before turning to the prince and continuing, “When we encountered the wyverns guarding the castle, he didn’t even know what they were. But he looked hopeful when I told him that they were distant cousins to dragons. I didn’t understand why, not at first.”

The roguish knight’s brows drew together from the memory of the event that took place over a year and a half ago. “We separated when we couldn’t find you,” he continued to address Arthur, “and when I backtracked to get back to him, I saw you lying unconscious in one of the rooms, about to become meal for two very angry wyverns. Before I could even shout for you to wake up, Merlin burst in from the side door and put himself between you and the creatures.”

He turned to Merlin now, “You roared at them in a language I had never heard before and like today, they bowed to you.” There was awe there in his tone and on his face which was replaced by defiance mixed with desperation and a hint of pleading when he turned back to Arthur, “That’s when his hopeful look made sense to me. He didn’t even know it would work, Arthur. But he didn’t even hesitate. He just put himself out there, to save you, just like he did with the Dorocha, just like he did so many times before.”

Despite the turbulent emotions threatening to strangle him, Arthur’s face was an impassive mask as he turned to Lancelot.

“Leon has known for three years, Gwaine for a year and a half, how long have _you_   known?” he asked, tone devoid of any emotions.

Lancelot’s hesitation was his undoing and Arthur snapped out, “What? Don’t tell me you’ve known since the Griffin, _five_ years ago?”

Turning to Merlin and wanting to reel himself in but unable to do so, Arthur found himself almost sneering at the servant, no, _Dragonlord_ , “Don’t tell me you command griffins too? Was it _you_   that stopped the Griffin instead of Lancelot? Like it was _you_ who stopped the Great Dragon instead of me?”

Hurt, grief and _guilt_   had him snarling sarcastically, not knowing how close to the mark his accusation actually was.

Merlin didn’t command the Griffin. He wasn’t even aware of Balinor’s existence then. But it _was_ him that stopped the Griffin, with _magic._

The warlock visibly cringed.

Gwaine put a comforting hand on his precious friend’s shoulder, glowering at Arthur as he did so.

“There is no need for that Sire,” Lancelot’s tone was calm. Still there was no mistaking the gentle but firm reprimand.

To his credit, Arthur said nothing.

If anyone had looked closely, they would’ve seen appalled realisation on his face when he saw how his words had hurt his friend. But that look was only present for a split second before the blank mask returned to cover what he was feeling.

The prince forced himself to wait, his gaze unwavering on Lancelot’s face, the only evidence to his turmoil was the clenched fists by his sides.

Lancelot nodded, acknowledging the prince’s command for an answer. “I didn’t know,” he started, “I only made the connection this morning when Leon told us who Balinor was.”

“Why would you make the connection from Leon’s statement?” Elyan asked, causing everyone to turn to him.

The knight was sitting with his uninjured shoulder leaning against the cave wall, a perplexed look on his face, “I mean, it was the first time I heard of the Dragonlord too but I wouldn’t have known to draw from that that Merlin is a Dragonlord,” he clarified his confusion to the others.

A look of comprehension dawned on Leon’s face and before he could stop himself, “You rode on the Great Dragon. That was how you were able to catch up with us,” he breathed out in awe.

There was silence all around before Percival voiced out softly, “It would make sense. You went in the opposite direction and had to backtrack, with us riding as fast as we could and saving days by going through the Tunnel of Andors, you shouldn’t have been able to catch up with us, no matter how fast you rode.”

“And you didn’t even have your horses with you,” Elyan added. His eyes were wide. Riding a wyvern had been a surreal experience for him, but the _Great Dragon_? He couldn’t help looking at Merlin with awe and wonder.

Lancelot closed his eyes, realising the mistake he made.

He abhorred lying and always tried to be truthful.

For Merlin, Lancelot usually used silence and diversion, almost never an outright lie, not when he could help it. But he would have, if it meant saving Merlin, _he would have_.

Stunned silence filled the cave.

Arthur’s sudden bellow of rage startled everyone.

“Sire—“, Leon didn’t even get to finish his sentence.

“Are they right?” the prince rasped out, oh so softly.

New anger was bursting into bloom and he felt so close to being totally out of control, “ _Did you?_ Rode on the Great Dragon to get to us?” not trusting himself to address Merlin just yet, he asked Lancelot instead.

At Lancelot’s nod, Arthur turned, very, very slowly, to face Merlin, “You let it go?” It’s _alive_?”  

Merlin was almost surprised by Arthur’s whisper soft voice. But he knew his prince too well, heard the slight tremor in the question and saw the tendon pulsating on Arthur’s neck.

He knew how furious the prince actually was.

He wished he could close his eyes against it.

Arthur didn’t deserve that.

“Arthur, please, if you would just—“, he tried to explain.

“A simple yes or no, is the dragon alive?” Arthur snapped each word out.

“Yes.”

Merlin knew that before the night was out he would come clean with his prince about his part in the dragon’s release.

He owed Arthur that much, at least.

Dread, grief and guilt throbbed in his chest, twisted in his gut as he waited for his prince to respond, his gaze not missing the tremble in Arthur’s hand before he brought it to wipe across his face.

Arthur took long shuddering breaths to steady himself, “The Great Dragon,” he began, his tone deceptively mild, “the same one that attacked Camelot, destroyed half the castle and most of the lower town, that killed over a dozen of my knights and many times over the number of innocence, _that_ same dragon,” his voice rose as he continued but he paused and took another long breath before asking what he feared he already knew, “You let it go? Set it _free_? After all that he’s done and all the lives he took?”

Merlin remembered his father’s words.

 _“He doesn't act blindly. He kills for a reason. Vengeance. This is of Uther's making.”_ Balinor had said.

He drew strength from it.

“Arthur. Kilgharrah was hurt. He acted in anger. He—“

Arthur interrupted before Merlin could go further, “Kilgharrah?”

“That’s his name,” a deep breath, “He’s a living creature. Like other living creatures, he has a mind and a heart that beats and feels, that _hurts_   just as keenly as ours do. He was _hurt,_ Arthur, and in his anger, he made a mistake.”

“You’re _defending_   him?”

“He’s my friend.”

Arthur was completely thrown, “Your _friend?_ ” he asked incredulously, “Do you know how many people _died_ because of your _**friend’s**   _rampage?”

Merlin closed his eyes. He knew. _Of course_   he knew. Those deaths were on  _his_   shoulders. _He_   was the one to free Kilgharrah in the first place after all.

“49 men and 27 women dead, 18 more women and children unaccounted for before we left to find my father. 127 men 43 women and 11 children dead by the time we got back and I sent him away,” he answered ruefully. Sorrow etched on his face, in his voice and deep within his heart.

He knew _every_   name, went to see _every_   grave, those that _did_ have graves.

He had sought out, helped where he could and apologised to bemused family members who never had a clue as to what he was atoning for, what he was really sorry for. Not just sorry for their loss but even _sorrier_   that _he_   was responsible.

Arthur stared at him.

 _Of course_   Merlin would know. Merlin cried over unicorns and little animals. Merlin _apologised_ to _flowers and herbs_   before he picked them up.

So for the life of him, Arthur _could not_   comprehend _how_   Merlin could be defending the beast that killed _so many_.

“And you’re _still_   defending him?”

“Arthur,” Merlin pleaded, “Remember when Morgause showed you Ygraine?”

Arthur stiffened and Merlin’s heart wept at the pain he was causing his prince by the mere reminder of the incident.

He forced himself and pushed ahead anyway, for an old friend who had helped him saved this man that meant so much to him more than once, an old friend who had had no one to stand up for him, had no one at all for over two decades before Merlin made his way to Camelot, “You were ready to take your father’s life to avenge your mother’s. Kilgharrah—"

“That was different! She was my _mother_!” Arthur cut in angrily.

“And Kilgharrah not only lost his _entire_ family and friends, he was made to be the _only one_ of his kind. Chained for over _twenty_ _years_ with no freedom, not even to stretch his wings properly, with no company at all, no one to speak to or converse with, in a cave deep beneath the castle as a sort of _trophy_!”

Tears were streaming down Merlin’s face now. “Imagine being all alone, knowing _everyone_   you cared for have been slaughtered, knowing you’re the _only one_ of your species left, that there would be _no other_   like you. Father, mother, family, friends _and kin_ , all killed. Imagine all that anger festering for over _two decades_   while you were _imprisoned_   and _ignored_ , with your _every_   liberty taken away from you. How would you have felt once let go, _knowing_   you have the power to destroy the one that was responsible for all your pain, your suffering, the loss of _all_   that you care for?”

Merlin knew what it was like to be like no other, to feel so _completely_   alone. He had his mother at least, and Will for a time, even if they could never fully understand.

Kilgharrah had had _no one_.

He knew what it was to love and lost, to watch it happen in front of his eyes and feel so, _so_ helpless.

There was Freya, Balinor and Will after all.

Yet he still had Arthur, his mother and Gaius. He even had Lancelot, Gwaine, Gwen and his other friends.

Kilgharrah had lost _everyone_.

He also knew what it felt like to have _so much_   power and what it took to restraint all that power, to _not_   let emotions rule.

It wasn’t easy and it was definitely  _not_   painless.

He realised with a sudden clarity, what Kilgharrah must’ve felt back then.

“He was _angry_ , Arthur, and sad and bitter. He reacted in anger, in pain and  vengeance, just as you did. He made a mistake.”

“He killed more than a hundred!”

“Your father killed more!”

“How dare you!”

“I _dare_   because my father had the power to destroy your father, destroy his whole kingdom but he chose to show mercy. He showed mercy and _left_. And when he left, he left Kilgharrah to his fate. He sacrificed the last of the dragon and your father hunted him to Ealdor, _Cendred’s_ Kingdom where he was doing _no_ harm other than to _exist._ It forced him to flee Arthur! Forced him to leave my mother, forced my mother to give birth to a fatherless child, to be scorned and ridiculed!”

Merlin remembered his father’s angry tirade when he had asked Balinor to come save Camelot.

_“Uther pursued me! He hunted me like an animal!”_

_“He asked me to use my power to bring the last dragon to Camelot. He said he wanted to make peace with it, but he did not! He lied to me! He betrayed me!”_

_“He killed every one of my kind! I alone escaped!”_

_"There's a place called Ealdor. I had a life there, a woman, a good woman. Ealdor is beyond Uther's realm, but still he pursued me. Why would he not let me be? What was it that I had done that he wanted to destroy the life I built, abandon the woman I loved?”_

He remembered his mother’s stricken look when he went back to Ealdor to let her know that he had met his father, to let her know that the man she loved had died saving their son’s life while on the way back to Camelot to help save the kingdom of the man that betrayed him and his kind, the man that took him from her.

He remembered standing just inside their house, listening to her quiet, heart-wrenching sobs when she excused herself outside as to not cry in front of him, and then again at night, when she thought he was asleep.

His voice lowered, filled with sorrow, “My parents loved each other and they lost each other. Mum knew your father was responsible but she holds him no ill will and she loves you like a son. My father, despite his anger, chose to come back to help Camelot. They chose to _forgive_ , Arthur. _How_   can I do less? _How can you expect me to_?”

Merlin was earnestly crying and desperately _begging_ , _frantic_   for Arthur to understand, “Kilgharrah lost _every one_   of his kind, _every one_   of his kin. He was hurt and angry. I showed him _mercy_ , Arthur. It was no less than what my father would have done. I’m not sorry for it. I _can’t_  be sorry for it. There needs to be forgiveness _somewhere_   or it will be a never ending cycle of vengeance and violence. More lives destroyed and hurt when _every_   life is precious and should be treasured.”

And then, as if resigned, “Take my life if it will appease you. I won’t stop you,” the warlock said, “Don’t worry about Kilgharrah. He won’t cause you or Camelot any more harm. I made sure of that.”

Arthur stared at Merlin in horror.

His father had chosen vengeance. His sister had followed in his footstep.

Merlin’s father had chosen mercy. His son had chosen same.

Perhaps there was something to be said about the sins of the fathers after all.

There was pain under his heart, like a knife between the ribs.

Gwaine too stared, with equal horror.

A conversation he had with Merlin from long ago resurfaced to his mind’s eye.

 _“I met my father just briefly before he died,”_   Merlin had said while they sat polishing a line of boots.

 _“Why?”_   he had asked.

_“He was banished.”_

_“What had he done?”_

Merlin’s hesitance before answering, _“Nothing, he served the King,”_   made sense to him now and he was even more in awe of Merlin’s loyalty and devotion and selflessness than he was before.

His heart bled for his friend, and prince or no prince, he was _never_ going to let Arthur harm Merlin!

He was never going to let _anyone_ harm Merlin!

“Over my dead body!” he growled out, pushing forward to put himself between his friend and his prince.

He faced Arthur fiercely before whirling around to face Merlin, “And you! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

His hands grasped his best friend’s shoulders, shaking him without even realising what he was doing.

And then he was hugging Merlin to him, and shaking him again, alternating between rage and grief _at_   and _for_   this man that was so, _so_   precious to him.

“Your life is not worthless, damn it! Stop trying to throw it away!”

“Gwaine, you’re hurting him.”

It was Lancelot’s gentle but firm reprimand that brought Gwaine back to his senses.

He let go of Merlin and faced Arthur once again.

“Harm a hair on him, and it will be _me_   that you will need protecting from,” he bit out menacingly.

Leon stepped forward at that. He had come to love Merlin like a little brother but Arthur was the Crown Prince and Gwaine had stepped out of line.

“Mind your words, _Sir_   Gwaine. You’re talking to our liege,” the loyal knight reminded sternly, warning in his tone and stance.

“He _is_   my liege. So long as he proved himself to be honourable. I will not serve a man without honour. And that’s what he is if he choose to harm a hair on Merlin.” Gwaine replied defiantly, standing fierce between Merlin and the prince and his most loyal knight.

 

*****End Chapter 4*****

 

 

 ** Bonus Material:  ** “Happy to be your servant” & “No man is worth your tears”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures for:  
> 1\. The chapter cover: Taken from various episodes of the Merlin TV series.  
> 2\. "Happy to be your servant": Taken from Episode 1.13: Le Morte d'Arthur.  
> 3\. "No man is worth your tears": Taken from Episode 2.13: The Last Dragonlord.


	6. Story of the Sword

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More revelations regarding Merlin and Kilgharrah. Still set in "Episode 4.02: The Darkest Hour (Part 2)" verse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains:  
> 1\. References, flashbacks and dialogues from Episode 1.09: Excalibur.  
> 2\. Smaller references/flashbacks and/or dialogues from Episodes 2.12: The Fires of Idirsholas, 2.13: The Last Dragonlord, 1.10: The Moment of Truth, 1.13: Le Morte d'Arthur, 1.05: Lancelot and 2.11: The Witch's Quickening.  
> 3\. Reference to Arthur and Merlin’s first meeting in Episode 1.01: The Dragon’s Call which I also recapped in my short picture-story titled: [A Kind of Ritual](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5813686)

** Chapter 5: Story of the Sword **

 

Arthur stood unblinking. As if on the outside looking in, the voices and sounds were muted somehow. He couldn’t hear a thing.

All he could do was watched as scenes unfolded before him.

He watched as Lancelot stepped between Gwaine and Leon, Elyan joining the noble knight in trying to placate his first knight.

He watched as Percival and Merlin pulled Gwaine away from his second in command, Percival using his imposing stature to block the two clashing knights’ view of one another.

And he watched Merlin agitatedly wiped away his tears with the back of his hand as he fervently spoke to the ferocious knight so adamant to become his protector.

The prince almost smiled when he saw Merlin’s earnest expression, simultaneously chiding and pleading.

It was a familiar expression, often directed towards _him_ , and one he often found both exasperating and endearing at the same time.

Ironically enough, it was that same unconsciously treasured expression that got his mind’s wheel turning once again, woken from its momentary paralysis of jumbled, confused emotions of guilt, grief, fury and shock.

The expression reminded Arthur that Merlin had never been a doormat. Nor was he a coward.

Merlin spoke his mind and he stood up for himself, and for others, _especially_   for others _,_ regardless of station or rank. That was how they met. It was one of the reasons Merlin stood out in Arthur’s mind as early as their first meeting.

Frank to the point of insolent, his Merlin would fight back. He’d argue his point until he got them across or until Arthur found a way to shut him up be it by distracting him with sarcasm, ordering his silence or sending him away or to the stocks.

His Merlin was self-sacrificing, but he was _not_ suicidal.

Merlin valued life, and that included his own.

He would sacrifice himself to save others, but he was not the type to just _give up_   on life.

He had drunk poison for Arthur, but he had _fought_   to _stay_   alive.

 _Merlin_ was _not_   meek _or_   weak, usually too stubborn to know when to quit.

So why was Merlin offering up his life? Capitulating without a fight?

He had done what he believed was right.

He had shown the dragon mercy because he thought that to be the right thing to do.

He was not sorry for it. He had said as much.

 _So **why** was he offering up his life? As though he **had** done something wrong, something **so terrible** that he thought it warranted **death** as its punishment?_ Arthur’s mind questioned once again, pressing hard to understand.

His breath caught in his throat when he figured it out.

“Merlin,” he called and waited for the servant to face him, to meet his eyes.

“How did the dragon escape? In the first place?” he asked slowly and carefully, as much for himself as for his friend’s benefit, “You said… he’s your friend, chained beneath the castle for over twenty years…”

Arthur forced himself to breathe in, deeply and slowly.

He would not condemn without giving Merlin a chance to explain himself first, because if nothing else, he _knew_   Merlin.

He _knew_   Merlin.

He knew Merlin’s _heart_.

Merlin could be foolish and Merlin could be idiotic.

Merlin also had a kind heart, kinder than anyone he knew.

Which was why he had to ask, “Did you…did you help him? Free the chains that bound him?”

Merlin stilled. His instincts were _screaming_   at him to bolt.

It was almost instinctive to simply withdraw into himself the way he almost always did when things sometimes got too much or when he was at a lost, to simply smile all his pain or worries away, to just natter on with insignificant chatter, biting sarcasms or good-natured banter.

It was a tried and true method of distraction, which had the added advantage of keeping suspicions at bay.

But Arthur didn’t deserve that. And Merlin was not running nor would he hide either. Not anymore.

No more hiding. Not of this.

He had made a choice. That choice had costs lives. It had costs _innocent_ lives. It was time to pay the price.

He maintained eye contact and answered his prince, “Yes.”

His voice came out whisper soft despite his resolution.

Gasps and sharply indrawn breaths echoed in the silent cave.

“Oh mate, please tell me you didn’t,” Gwaine’s voice was anguished.

How his precious friend had suffered.

Merlin had forgiven the dragon, but there was no way he would forgive himself. He would’ve carried the blame with him all these years and suffered for it.

Gwaine’s heart ached so terribly at the thought.

Leon stared uncomprehendingly. He had lost men and comrades during the dragon’s rampage. Anger simmered to the surface, on their behalf.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the story.

For here was a boy who may have been foolhardy plenty of times, but this same boy had changed a spoilt prince masking his insecurities behind bullying and arrogance into a leader who commanded respect by _giving_ respect.

There was a sort of wisdom and genuine innocence to Merlin, in his outlooks and the ways he did things that had taught the prince that compassion and consideration were not weaknesses to be hidden away but strengths to be embraced and applied in his rulings.

Leon was not blind to the part the servant played that had made Arthur a better person, a benevolent, just leader, kind and fair, much loved by his people.

Merlin was the turning point that had shaped Arthur into a ruler Leon served no longer because it was his duty, but because he was _proud_ to do so, _proud_ in the man that Arthur had become, _believed_ in what the prince stood for in a way that surpassed even his allegiance to the King.

Instead of Uther’s first knight, Leon was now more _Arthur’s_ first knight. _Arthur_ , who may not have become the man he was _without_ **_Merlin’s_** influence in his life.

Suffice to say, Leon was conflicted by this new revelation.

“Why would you _do_   that, Merlin? Surely you _knew_  there’d be a possibility that the dragon would lash out?” It was Elyan that asked the question, shocked and bemused.

“I have to ask the same,” Percival added softly. He was not one for many words but there were thoughts in his head that he felt was better expressed than kept, “You’re the most emphatic person I’ve ever met, Merlin. You always know when one of us is feeling bad and what to say or do to make us feel better. You gauge emotions the way Arthur and Leon read battle strategies and navigate court politics, the way Gwaine and Lancelot anticipate sword movements and counter opponent manoeuvres. You’d have expected for the dragon to have reacted the way it did.”

“He,” Merlin automatically corrected.

“Kilgharrah is a ‘he’, not an ‘it’,” he clarified at Percival’s look of confusion. His voice tired, as were his countenance.

He slowly sat himself down on a jutting boulder and smiled gratefully at Lancelot who had moved to his side, shoulder brushing his in silent support.

The noble knight did not at all feel like he deserved the gratitude.

He had _abandoned_ Merlin. He had _known_ the burden that Merlin had carried, and he had _left_ anyway, to protect his own heart, to spare himself heartache of giving Guinevere up, of having to see her with someone else.

It was a selfish thing to do and it had left his friend to suffer _alone_.

It was at the tip of Lancelot’s tongue, to promise Merlin that he would _never_   leave the warlock again, not for _anything_. Except that he remembered, remembered that for Merlin to _live_ , _he_   had to die.

He wanted so desperately to be able to stay by his friend’s side, to protect him from any more harm to come. But that privilege belonged to Gwaine now. They had agreed, Gwaine and him.

It was the only way.

If a heart could really bleed and still steadily beat, Lancelot’s steady heart was bleeding rather profusely.

Merlin was tired. He was so, _so_ tired, of all the deceptions, all the secrets, all his failures…

He had caused _so_ much pain and had failed to prevent even _more_.

People had _died_   and many _more_   had suffered _because_   of him and in the case of his _father_   and the _first_ friend he ever had, his _only_   friend before Camelot, before _Arthur_ ,  Balinor _and_ Will had _both_ died _for_   him.

Now his friends were fighting, with one another, _over_   him.

Gwaine, so loyal and protective, had challenged _Arthur_   in his defence.

He hadn’t shown it, but he must’ve been hurt, must’ve thought that Merlin didn’t trust him and _still_   he stood for Merlin.

Would he change his mind when he learned the truth? Would _Lancelot_ who thought so highly of him? As loyal and protective of him as Gwaine was, would _he_ still think favourably of Merlin?

Would he still have their trusts? Their affections? His best friends… would he still have their _friendships_?

The other knights…would they _ever_   see him the same way again? Would there be _any_   kind thoughts left for him, _of_ him?

And Arthur… the one he would _gladly_   die to protect, the one he would do _anything_   for, sacrifice _everything_   for, the one he had sworn to keep from _any_ harm, _any_   hurt, _any_ pain…

He had hurt _Arthur_. And before the night was over, he would hurt Arthur even _more_.

Because even if he couldn’t find the _strength_ to reveal his magic, he knew that he had to at least let Arthur know of the part that he had played in Morgana’s betrayal, what he had done which might have turned Morgana into a person filled with bitterness and vengeance, almost every drop of kindness drained from her.

If Arthur understood what motivated her, he’d have a better chance against her. He might even have a chance to win her back.

Arthur would need every advantage there was, since Merlin wouldn’t be around anymore.

Arthur would _hate_ him. Maybe even enough to _let_  him walk through the veil in Arthur’s place without a fight.

It didn’t matter, he’d do it anyway.

There was _nothing_   he would not do to keep Arthur safe.

If it meant his life, so be it.

But what of Arthur’s trust?

It would make things easier for Arthur. If he died with Arthur’s heart filled with hatred and anger towards him. Surely that would lessen the guilt?

Arthur _would_ feel guilty.

If _any_ of his subjects were to die in his place, he would be filled with guilt and remorse.

But if he _no longer_   trusted Merlin, no longer considered Merlin…his…

Anger would surely take the edge of the guilt…

…and grief?

Would there _be_   grief?

Merlin couldn’t bear the thought of Arthur grieving.

It would be for the best that Arthur hated him.

Fate, it would seem, had impeccable timing.

Knowing and _experiencing_ were not quite the same.

The thought of Arthur _hating_   him, filled him with an overwhelming dread.

But it was the right thing to do, and the right time to do so. Merlin felt it in his heart. He felt it to his bones. Felt it in the very air he breathed.

Even if the hurt ended up _unbearable_ , just the _mere_   thought felt like a _ripping_   of his heart and would no doubt torn it to _shreds_ , he couldn’t, _mustn’t_ be selfish.

So he took a deep breath and started his confession.

“I did it to save my mother.”

Arthur stepped forward at that.

It wasn’t what he was expecting. His brows drew together in confusion, “I don’t understand.”

Merlin took another deep breath. “It’s a long story,” he said and looked deeply into his prince’s eyes, savouring the beautiful blue pools which as of yet, held no contempt for him.

Questions and confusion were there to be sure, some wariness, but not hatred. _Not yet_.

He swallowed, “You won’t like any of it.”

Arthur stepped even closer. The torment in Merlin’s eyes bothered him. It bothered him rather greatly.

He still remembered those same eyes staring vacantly at him, almost lifeless after the incident with the Dorocha.

Instinctively, he sought to assure, “You once told me that I must learn to listen as well as I fight. That I’d be a great king, but I must learn to listen.”

He put a hand on Merlin’s arm, “I know I should’ve listened more in the past. I’m sorry that I haven’t...that you feel you couldn’t come to me…or talk to me. But, I’m listening now.”

Merlin nodded and swallowed again, searched Arthur’s face before dropping his gaze and spoke softly, “I didn’t release Kilgharrah because I sympathise with him or because I consider him a friend. I released him because I had promised to do so… on my mother’s life.”

Despite his resolution to listen without interrupting, old habits were not so easily broken, “Why on earth would you do that? What could _possibly_ possess you to make promises, _gamble_ with your _mother’s_ life?!” Arthur asked incredulously.

“To save Camelot…from the Knights of Medhir and Morgause,” Merlin answered directly. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable. Not anymore.

“What are you talking about?”

“When Morgause and the Knights of Medhir tried to overtake Camelot by putting everyone to sleep, I went to Kilgharrah for help. He wouldn’t, not until I promised on my mother’s life that I would set him free.”

“I thought you said he’s your _friend_? What kind of _friend_ would ask for that kind of sacrifice?”

“He’s helped… before. And I had promised before. But I was afraid of what he might do if I let him go. So I kept putting it off. He had valid reasons to distrust me, to be impatient.”

“ _When_ has he helped before? And _how_   did he help with the Knights of Medhir situation? You’re not making any sense!”

Arthur was gripping his hair with both hands in frustration. Everything that had happened, all the new information, all the secrets _Merlin_ of all people had been keeping from him, felt like _too_ much.

“Arthur! I’m _trying_ to make sense. If you’d just _listen_! Listen to me, _please_.” Merlin pleaded. He was standing now, gently pulling Arthur’s hands from his hair, not wanting his prince to hurt himself.

“ _Please_ ,” he asked again, whispered so desperately that Arthur almost had to strain to hear him even with how close they stood together, both Merlin’s hands holding on to his arms.

Just for a moment, Arthur returned the gesture, their hands gripping each other’s arms at the elbows.

Just for a moment, and then he pulled himself away, took a deep breath, wiped a hand roughly over his face, straightened his posture and nodded his assent, “Answer my questions please,” he requested tersely.

Merlin nodded, pondering Arthur’s questions as he tiredly sat himself back on the jutting boulder.

“He’s been of help quite a number of times and I don’t think the night would be long enough to divulge all of it,” he decided to address Arthur’s first question first.

“Then tell me of one instance,” a terse command.

Another nod of acknowledgment, though it took Merlin a moment to decide on his answer, “The Black Knight.”

Arthur stiffened, “He threw the gauntlet at my feet, the night of my coronation as Crown Prince.”

He remembered.

How could he not when two of his knights had managed to intercept the challenge that was meant for him and were killed for it.

“Sir Owain picked it up the first time before you could. Sir Pellinor took up the second challenge. He killed them both in single combat, two days in a row,” Leon added softly for he too remembered.

“They shouldn’t have! It was meant for me!” Just the thought of it stirred old resentment and guilt, brought them back to the surface.

“It was actually meant for your father.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Explain,” he demanded.

“Both Gaius and your father, recognised his crest and Geoffrey confirmed it. The seal of a raven, in that design… belonged to Tristan de Bois.”

Arthur’s brows drew together, recalling history lessons of long ago, “My mother’s brother? Who _died_   about a year _after_   I was born?” He couldn’t help but scoffed, “Are you telling me that he _rose from the dead_   to challenge my father?”

“Gaius believed him to be a wraith, spirit of the dead, conjured from the grave. He said that your uncle blamed your father for your mother’s death and came to the gates of Camelot and challenged him, to single combat. The king won. But in his dying breath, your uncle cursed Camelot. That one day it would suffer his return.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“Gaius and I searched the burial vault, went through the old crypts. His tomb was broken and empty.”

“You _are_ serious!” Arthur was gobsmacked.

But things fell into place for Leon, his voice low and cautious as he reminded, “Arthur, Owain pierced his gut and Pellinor’s sword ran him through, _twice_. Neither killed him.”

“That’s because he was already dead. No mortal weapon can kill a wraith and nothing can stop it until it has achieved what it came for,” Merlin explained, “Gaius begged your father to tell you who the knight was to convince you to withdraw… but your father made him swear an oath of silence on the matter.”

“That’s why he had Gaius drugged me? He really believed that the Black Knight was my uncle, brought back to life _from the dead_?”

“He had to. It’s been chronicled more than once that the grief and rage of a tormented soul can be harnessed by powerful magic to make it live again and…Nimueh was a very powerful sorcerer. She came to him the night before you were meant to face the wraith.”

“ _That’s_ why he had Gaius drugged me,” Arthur answered his own question, speaking almost to himself.

It was one of his most treasured memories.

He had barged into the throne room when he woke up, “ _You had Gaius drug me! I was meant to fight him!”_

 _“No, you weren't,”_ his father had replied calmly at first _._ But the rest of the conversation…wasn’t as calm.

He recalled them with crystal clarity.

_“I believed you would die. And that was a risk I could not take. You are too precious to me. You mean more to me than anything I know, more than this entire kingdom, and certainly more than my own life. “_

_“I... always thought that...”_

_“What?”_

_“That...I was a big disappointment to you.”_

_“Well, that is my fault, and not yours. You are my only son. And I wouldn't wish for another.”_

It was the _only_ time his father had openly admitted affections for him, passionately and earnestly.

_“I heard you fought pretty well.”_

_“Thanks.”_

_“You should join us for training. Sort out your footwork.”_ The _only_ time he teased his father, leisurely and blithely.

 _“I'll show you footwork.”_ The _only_ time he experienced horseplay with his father, got to see his father’s _playful_ side.

He had to forcibly shake himself out of the memories gripping him.

“What does any of this have to do with the dragon?” the prince demanded.

“When your father would not relent about telling you, and _you_ would not withdraw when I _begged_ you to,” Merlin couldn’t help but sounded a bit petulant there, “I searched the archive for a way to kill the wraith and Geoffrey told me of fables he had read of in the ancient chronicles, of ancient swords begotten in the dragon's breath that could destroy _anything_ , alive _or_ _dead_.”

Maintaining eye contact, Merlin continued,  “I asked Gwen for her father’s strongest sword and asked Kilgharrah to burnish it.”

“Guinevere? She helped you? She _knew_?”

“No Arthur,” Merlin sighed, exasperated, “She's my _friend_. I asked for a favour which she granted. There wasn’t any need to tell her about Kilgharrah or the wraith.” His expression read ‘what do you take me for, an idiot?’ a very _Merlin_ expression that prompted Arthur’s reply, “What? She just gave you her father’s finest sword? No question's asked?”

Even without meaning to, and despite the direness of the conversation, the sarcasm and the banter were rituals that came naturally to them.

“I remember, you had such strong bonds even back when we first met. She had such affection for you that I thought the two of you were together,” Lancelot was only half aware when he reminisced softly to Merlin but when he realised he had spoken aloud without actually meaning to, he turned to Arthur and quietly added, “I don’t think there’s much that Gwen would deny Merlin. She made me armour and a full set of clothing fit for a noble when I was no more than a stranger to Camelot simply because Merlin had asked her to.”

Privately, Lancelot thought that Guinevere might have had feelings for Merlin back then which Merlin was oblivious to.

“Go on Merlin. Tell us the rest. There’s more to the story, isn’t there?” Leon gently urged.

Merlin nodded, once again solemn. “When he found out that the king was who the wraith was after, Kilgharrah didn’t want to help. He said to let it take its vengeance and it will die on its own when its purpose is fulfilled. But he relented when I said _you_ were the one to fight the wraith.”

“You mean when you _begged_   him, because I reckon that’s the only way he’d agree to help someone who had him imprisoned for decades,” Gwaine interjected gruffly.

“I told him that _Arthur_ would be the one to die, not his father,” Merlin acknowledged.

Though it wasn’t said out loud, every single person in the cave knew that he _had_   indeed begged for Arthur’s life.

A pause and a somewhat rueful shrug before he continued, “The king used Excalibur and defeated Tristan.”

Arthur frowned, “Excalibur?”

“The sword,” Merlin answered.

“And where is it now?”

A deep, indrawn breath, “You see, a weapon forged with dragon’s fire is imbued with old magic and very powerful. In the wrong hands it could do a lot of evil. Before he breathed his fire on it, Kilgharrah insisted that it must be wielded by you and you _alone_. I promised him it would. I didn’t know of your father’s plan to take your place until I was readying _him_   for battle instead of you and I… couldn’t convince him to use a different sword.”

Merlin gave another rueful, self deprecating shrug, “Kilgharrah was furious when he found out and he felt betrayed, rightfully so. And since the sword is indestructible, he told me to take it to a place far away and hide it where no mortal man can ever find it.”

“That’s why you were missing for several days after,” Arthur said thoughtfully, another frown forming on his face.

“I was hiding the sword. I’m afraid I can’t tell you where.”

“I thought you were at the tavern. I sent you to the stocks every day for the whole week as punishment! You never said anything!”

Merlin smiled at his prince’s outburst. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You never needed much reason to send me to the stocks, Sire and there wasn’t anything I could say without revealing either Kilgharrah or Excalibur. I didn’t even tell Gaius.”

The tormented look was back on Merlin’s face and the dread that was temporarily drowned by their banter once again filled Arthur’s gut, complete with new guilt and overdue gratitude at the new found knowledge.

After a moment of silence and bracing himself for strength, Merlin continued “Anyway, like I said, Kilgharrah had valid reason to distrust me. Still, he saved the king’s life, however inadvertently, which brings us to your next question of the part he played in the Knights of Medhir situation, of _why_ I _gambled_ with my mother’s life.”

The crudeness of the words almost made him flinch.

Had he? _Gambled… callously bargained…_ with his mother’s life?

He made a promise. Yes, on his mother’s life, to save Arthur’s, traded Kilgharrah’s freedom… in exchange for his help, his knowledge.

He hadn’t even hesitated.

But he had had every intention of _keeping_  the promise.

There was never any possibility that he would not.

Despite the fact that he _knew_   of what Kilgharrah might do, had unintentionally _seen_   it inside the Crystal of Neahtid, he _never_   had any intention of breaking his word and endangering his mother.

Between the _possibility_   of Kilgharrah’s vengeance once released and the _certainty_   of his mother’s death if he broke his word, it was never a choice.

He would _always_ choose to save his mother just as he would _always_   choose to save Arthur.

He just never figured he’d have to _poison_  a _friend_ , never figured _so_ many lives would be lost, including his own _father’s_.

He never _imagined_   the person Morgana would become, the _devastation_   she would cause.

All on _him_ … because of the choices _he_   made.

 

*** **End Chapter 5*****

 

 

 ** Bonus Material:  ** Arthur’s Coronation (as Crown Prince) @ When Arthur & Merlin’s expressions mirror one another @ Blushing Merlin in Denial…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All pictures are taken from Episode 1.09: Excalibur.


	7. Sacrifice of the Servant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin’s confession, derailed by layer upon layer of secrets and Arthur’s newfound perspective (which came with hindsight).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains many references and/or a large amount of flashbacks and dialogues (sequences rearranged & modified in some instances) from Episodes 2.12: The Fires of Idirsholas, 3.01 & 3.02: The Tears of Uther Pendragon (Parts 1&2), and 3.12 & 3.13: The Coming of Arthur (Parts 1&2) and smaller references to Episodes 1.09: Excalibur and 3.05: The Crystal Cave. 
> 
> "Friends turned Foes" kept getting longer and longer every time I tried to tie all of my written up scenes together. There's just too many materials to work with to tell Morgana's story and I wanted to do it justice, to have Merlin defend her and portray the frightened friend she was and the journey that made her a formidable foe, but also to show his struggle in confessing his knowledge of her magic and his part in her betrayal. 
> 
> Since it took me so long to complete the chapter, previously, I had cut the first ~ 4400 words and retitled it "Story of the Sword", and now is the next ~ 4600 words retitled "Sacrifice of the Servant". If things go to plan, the last part of what was "Friends turned Foes" retitled "Silence of the Sufferings" would be out as soon as I can manage it. 
> 
> I'm not too sure with any of the chapters and truth be told, I stopped writing for awhile. Depending on my schedule and the motivation to write, updates may be slower. So I'd like to apologise in advance and assure you that I WILL complete the story. Slowing down, but NOT giving up. As usual, a reminder, you're entitled to be upset, but please don't throw mean words my way. I REALLY don't deal well with them.

** Chapter 6: Sacrifice of the Servant **

 

** **

Merlin was lost, carried back in time by memories that would not fade.

 _“Here. You tear this up. I'll make some rope,”_ he had said to distract her, turning sideways so that his back was to her.

A small vial of Hemlock in one hand…

A water skin in the other…

The hemlock shakily but quickly poured into the water skin.

Turning back to her as if nothing was amiss, as though he wasn’t about to **_poison_ ** her.

The haze of sleep that had been threatening to overcome him had made it all seemed like a dream, unreal.

Except the clanging of metals could be heard outside, _reverberating_ to the inside, of _Arthur_ , **_alone_** , fighting _seven_ **_immortal_** knights that **_couldn’t_**   be killed.

 ** _Arthur_**   was out there, brave and courageous, fighting to stay awake, fighting to stay **_alive_**.

It wouldn’t be long before Arthur succumbed to sleep as had the rest of the castle.

Not long before he wouldn’t be able to fight, to defend himself.

Not long before _Merlin_ succumbed to sleep and wouldn’t be able to help.

_“Here, have some water.”_

_“I'm not thirsty.”_

_“If we get out of here, you may not get another chance to drink.”_

_“ **If** we get out of here,” _she had huffed, completely oblivious to the more imminent danger staring her right in the face, the biggest betrayal from someone she considered her friend.

He had handed her the water skin, had even _pretended_ to drink from it.

_“Here.”_

_“I'm fine.”_

_“No, you have some before I finish it.”_

Morgana had sigh then, had looked at him gratefully, almost adoringly, while she _thanked_ him.

He had had to turn away from her for a moment, to clear his eyes from the tears he couldn’t stop flowing before he gathered the courage to face her.

And faced her he did, stared right into her eyes because the **_least_** he could do was to own up to his betrayal.

Merlin shuddered.

For his **_entire_**   life, he was sure he’d **_never_** be able to forget the look on her face.

When comprehension pushed pass confusion and panic, when the **_horror_   **of the knowledge of his treachery and the **_terror_**   of the implication of his action finally registered to her.

Her _frantic_   gasping for breath as he held her in his arms.

His desperation to try and comfort, to tell her he was _sorry,_ to let her know it wasn’t what he wanted, that he didn’t know of another way, that he had _no other choice_.

Her, weakly pushing him away, teetering between disbelieve and disgust, panic and survival.

Every _single breath_ could’ve been her _last_.

If Morgause hadn’t come when she did…

If she hadn’t cared for Morgana as he had _gambled_ she would…

Merlin was beginning to hate that word… ** _gambled_**

His mother’s life…

Morgana’s life…

 _Dear Lord_ , when and _how_ did he get to this point in his life?

 _Recklessly_   and _thoughtlessly_ taking chances with the lives of others?

As though he had the right…

As if they meant so _little_ …

It _wasn’t_ his right.

He loved his mother more than anything and Morgana was his friend, dear to his heart.

Both deserved _more_ than careless disregard.

He knew it then, knew it now.

So, what had happened?

 _When_ did he become a monster?

Lancelot dropped to his knees, both hands going to his friend’s shoulders.

Merlin had gone so still all of a sudden.

And then, a slight hitch in his breath, a stillness… followed by heavy breathing.

It was a sight Lancelot was familiar with.

Usually late at night when sleep overtook his friend despite Merlin’s attempts to avoid them as much as possible.

Lancelot doubted that Merlin realize that there were tears streaming down his closed eyes.

Silent tears… because he was awake this time around, caught up in memories rather than nightmares.

The nightmares that were always accompanied by keening cries of anguish, broken sobs of grief and self reprimand, pleas for forgiveness…

Instinctively, Lancelot knew what Merlin’s confession would entail.

He didn’t know the whole story.

It wasn’t something Merlin talked about, at least not while he was awake.

Gaius did though, briefly, after the shock of the first time Lancelot had witnessed Merlin’s nightmare, not long after they took back Camelot from Morgana.

The physician knew he had managed to put some bits and pieces together from Merlin’s unconscious ramblings and had took it upon himself to defend his ward.

Gaius had been adamant that Merlin did the right thing.

 _“_ _Camelot was dying. Morgana was the source of the enchantment. It was either Merlin incapacitates her, or the kingdom fell,”_ the physician had insisted, “ _Merlin made the best choice he could under the circumstances.”_

He had looked at Lancelot straight in the eyes, almost defiantly, _“I would’ve done the same if the decision was mine to make and with less suffering than him because as much as I had cared for her, I fear that unlike Merlin, Morgana chose not to use her gift for good. He had had no choice but to poison her and he suffered for it.”_

Lancelot had marveled at the strength of his friend, had mourned at the sacrifice and the grief and pain that had surely cost him.

For someone like Merlin, with a heart as kind as his… to make that decision, to take on that burden, to poison a friend no matter what the reason…

Lancelot had been consumed with guilt and regret, had been filled with sorrow.

He had since that night, made it a point to check on Merlin and watched over him as his precious friend slept.

Some nights Merlin was too tired to dream.

Other nights, _most nights_ , he had had to force himself to listen to the sounds of Merlin’s cries, punished himself for his selfishness for leaving even as he tried to ward the nightmares that plague his friend, had even cried with him on more than one occasion.

It was something only he and Gaius were aware of since Merlin rarely woke and when he did, he was blessedly oblivious, had simply drifted back to sleep, the exertion too much for both mind and body.

Over time, Lancelot found that Merlin slept easier when he was held and Lancelot had taken it upon himself to be there and slipped away before Merlin would wake.

He and Gaius never spoke of it, not to Merlin, nor to each other.

Now it seemed as though Merlin was trapped in the memories of those very same nightmares.

Lancelot did the only thing he could think of.

He shook his friend, gently called out to him, “Merlin.”

Another gentle shake followed by a plea, “Merlin. Come back,” soft and coaxing, “Wherever you’re at right now, you need to come back.”

Merlin opened his eyes on a gasp of breath, pupils blown wide in distress.

He found himself staring into Lancelot’s worried brown ones.

“Lance,” he breathed out, heart pounding, mind dazed.

Lancelot nodded and kept his hands on Merlin’s shoulders, “You’re alright,” he said. A statement, soft but firm, assuring.

Merlin blinked, swallowed and nodded to himself several times, quietly repeating, “I’m alright,” under his breath, to himself.

Lancelot’s hands went to the sides of Merlin’s face, his thumbs soothingly brushing away the tears.

He almost smiled at the look of surprise on Merlin’s face but chose to drop a light kiss at the top of his head instead.

His friend really hadn’t been aware that he was crying.

He put his forehead to Merlin’s, “I need to ask you a question,” he said gently.

Merlin pulled back, looked at the noble knight in puzzlement but nodded his consent.

“You had a sword with you, forged in a dragon’s breath you said, when we went after the Cup of Life. That sword, it was Excalibur?”

“Went… after the Cup of Life…?” Elyan repeated softly, the question hung in the air as neither Lancelot nor Merlin had noticed and the rest of the group was too stunned by the intimacy of Lancelot’s caring towards the raven-haired servant.

At Merlin’s nod, Lancelot continued, “Percy and I had to go through hostile territories to get to you, every village surrounding Camelot was swarming with the immortal armies, if the sword was hidden days away…”

Understanding registered on Merlin’s face and completely tuned to Lancelot, he answered without the knight having to complete his question, “Kilgharrah flew me there and back.”

“So he helped, even then?”

Merlin nodded in answer though not understanding the _point_ to Lancelot’s query, at least not initially.

But he knew Lancelot, at times even better than he knew his prince.

 _“You're a knight. At last,”_ he had said at the beginning of a hushed late night conversation slightly over a year ago, the same day Arthur had knighted Lancelot, Gwaine, Elyan and Percival.

_“But for how long?”_

_“Who knows?”_

_“What are you planning? And don't even think about lying. I know you too well.”_

_“It's too difficult to explain.”_

_“You can tell me.”_

His gut filled with dread when he figured it out but Lancelot had already turned to face the others.

Merlin shook his head, “No. Lance, you can’t…”

The rest of their conversation played in his mind, of Lancelot’s complete faith in him, the steadfastness of the noble knight’s friendship.

_“Morgana has the Cup of Life. If I can find it and empty it of the blood within, then the army will be destroyed, and Morgana will be powerless.”_

_“Aren't you forgetting something? It's guarded by an immortal army.”_

_“Aren't you forgetting something? I have magic.”_

_“It doesn't make you immortal.”_

_“No.”_

_“You know, Merlin, you're the one Arthur should knight. You're the bravest of us all and he doesn't even know it.”_

_“He can't. Not yet. That's why I need to find a way to get to the Cup without Arthur knowing.”_

_“Leave that to me.”_

It was Lancelot’s life’s dream to become a knight of Camelot. Merlin could not, _would_ not let his friend risk that dream, not by admitting complicity to lying to the prince and abetting a sorcerer.

“Lance, don’t.”

Lancelot turned immediately at Merlin’s desperate plea, his heart clenching at the look of terror on Merlin’s face.

He dropped to his knee once again facing his friend, “He has a right to know, Merlin. He _should_ know what you’ve done for the kingdom, for him. What you’ve sacrificed.”

When Merlin continued to shake his head vehemently, his hands once again went to grab the sides of Merlin’s face, “Merlin, I’ve kept my silence. For you, I’ll continue to do so. But I need you to trust me now.”

He put his forehead once again to Merlin’s, forced his friend to meet his eyes, “Do you trust me, Merlin?” he asked.

“Of course,” Merlin’s voice was hoarse but his answer was immediate.

Lancelot smiled. The smile was gentle but his eyes were earnest, as was his request, “Then know that I would never betray your trust. Know that I would always have your best interest at heart. _Trust_ me. Trust me to do what’s right.”

Merlin’s eyes pleading and terrified very nearly broke his resolve. Instead, he grasped Merlin’s chin in his hand, his thumb brushing away new tears that had fallen, “Trust me,” he said, and said it again when Merlin continued shaking his head.

When Gwaine crouched down and wrapped his arms around the warlock, gently hushing him, Lancelot looked at the knight gratefully and stood up to face the prince once again.

“Before Merlin continues with his story, I’d like to complete the story of Excalibur and how Merlin and Kilgharrah saved Camelot from the immortal army.”

“You said you went after the Cup of Life…with the sword.” Elyan repeated his earlier statement.

“Yes.”

“Merlin and I and _Gwaine_ went after the cup,” Arthur contradicted tightly. His heart and mind not yet ready to accept what rational thought was trying to tell him in hindsight.

 _“There is a tunnel under the northern ramparts that brings us only a few paces from the entrance to the dungeons. It will be well guarded. So, if we're going to break everyone out, we must remain unobserved. We cannot let them raise the alarm,”_ he recalled planning to retake the castle and to rescue his father.

Lancelot had suggested taking out the warning bell, _“We need to take out the warning bell. That way the warriors have no means of communication.”_

 _“Good idea,”_ Arthur had agreed.

_“I'll need someone with me who knows the castle.”_

It had taken him by surprise, but Merlin was the one to volunteer, _“I'll go.”_ It was the first time that Merlin had volunteered to leave his side. Merlin would _never_ leave his side. He should have known that something was up. Especially when the warning bell had went off anyway.

“I don’t understand. Who actually went after the cup and what does it have to do with the immortal army?” Elyan’s question broke Arthur out of his reverie.

“Not long before Camelot was attacked by the immortal army, I led a patrol near the Forest of Essetir. We were ambushed and left for dead. I alone survived, on the brink of death but saved by the druids. They made me drink from a cup,” Leon reminisced, “Am I right to assume that this is the cup that you’re referring to, Sire? That was the Cup of Life?”

The loyal knight had heard tales of the cup before, he just never figured that it was real, not a myth made up for children’s fancy.

Arthur nodded, “There’s a legend surrounding the cup. That many centuries ago, it fell into the possession of a warlord who gathered his army before him and took a drop of blood from each of his man and collected it in the cup. The soldiers were made immortal where they stood and the carnage they wrought was beyond imagining. My father did not want to risk it falling into Cenred’s hand. Merlin and I went after it and met Gwaine on the way.”

“We lost the cup to Cenred anyway,” Gwaine added, “He had spies all over the forest. He knew we were going after the cup and he knew where to look for us.”

“Morgana,” Arthur breathed out almost to himself. His heart twisted inside his chest. His sister had betrayed them to Cenred.

“And that was how Cenred ended up with an immortal army.” Percival quietly concluded.

“Merlin thought that if we empty the cup of the blood within, the army would be destroyed,” Lancelot’s voice was just as quiet.

“Surely, it was heavily guarded?” Elyan asked, alarmed.

Lancelot nodded, “It was. He was going to go alone. I couldn’t let him.”

“The warning bell was a ruse. You lied to me.”

“Arthur—“Merlin tried to interject, coming to Lancelot’s defence.

“And you! When you said you were _scouting_ the forest, you went to meet up with the dragon, went to get the sword! You both lied to me!”

“Honestly princess! They saved Camelot! What are you so angry about?” Gwaine couldn’t help asking.

“It was a half baked plan! Two of them against god knows how many! They were lucky they weren’t killed!” And that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? Merlin could have died and he would’ve been none the wiser. Arthur’s chest felt tight. So tight he was having trouble breathing.

“That’s the point, Arthur. I didn’t know if the plan would work. I couldn’t risk you.”

“And was that the only reason?”

“I also couldn’t tell you about Kilgharrah and Excalibur,” Merlin conceded, completely resigned to his prince’s judgement.

“Couldn’t or _would not_?” Arthur insisted. Anger and hurt pushing him to press on.

“Clearly the plan worked. The army exploded right when we all thought we’d die fighting,” Gwaine jeered, driven by his need to protect Merlin. He would’ve said more if he hadn’t recognised the fear and hurt the prince was trying to hide behind his bluster.

Arthur was his friend too and Gwaine’s love for Merlin did not blind him to the fact that Arthur’s reaction came from shock and hurt which was both understandable and justified. Because of that, the knight relented, held his tongue and went no further.

******

Arthur’s head felt so hot and full like it was about to burst.

So many secrets and he was completely oblivious to them all.

In hindsight, his mind reeled back, to another siege, by another army of the undead, one that was also led by Cenred. His mind drew the parallels.

Merlin had gone missing then too. He remembered looking for him to help with the wounded soldiers only to find him coming down the steps from _inside_ the castle, _“Merlin! Where the hell have you been?”_

Merlin had looked worried and distracted even as he defended himself, _“Nowhere!”_

_“You're starting to make a habit of this. What's your excuse this time?”_

And when the skeleton army had showed up, Merlin had disappeared again, only to appear once all the skeletons had crumbled to pieces where they stood.

Merlin had been about to tell him something, _“Sire.”_

_“What is it, Merlin?”_

_“I need to tell you something about Morgana.”_

Merlin had been about to tell him something _about Morgana_ as they walked the corridor towards the throne room.

_“It's all right. We know what happened.”_

_“You do?”_

He remembered the confusion on Merlin’s face that had turned to horror upon his father’s speech, _“In my time, we've won many battles, but none as important as this. Every man, woman and child has performed their heroic best, and I thank you, and I salute you all. Even before the battle, we knew there was a traitor in our midst, one who was almost the undoing of us. However, we have to thank the one person who outwitted them, and who - almost single-handedly - turned the battle, the Lady Morgana.”_

He remembered Merlin and Morgana glaring at each other as Uther had continued, _“For it was she who bravely entered the vault, found the magical vessel, and destroyed it. We must be vigilant! We must stand firm against the dark forces of magic, and ensure that they never penetrate our walls again.”_

He had been confused by the blatant animosity between the two then, had meant to ask, but ended up distracted by the celebration that followed.

Arthur’s stomach churned with new realisation.

“The skeleton army… that was you too, wasn’t it? It was you who stopped them, not Morgana. Did she betray us even then?” he breathed out.

He recalled the pain he had felt when he thought that she was dying from falling off the stairs and to know that she had been betraying them even _prior_ to that was another stab to his already battered heart.

Merlin swallowed. He knew Arthur was oblivious, yes, but his prince was never stupid.

How much more connections would he make? How many more secrets and lies would he uncover? What other truths would he surmise?

******

“Merlin, answer me,” Arthur was almost pleading, “Did Morgana have anything to do with the skeleton army? How did you find out about it? What really happened that day?”

“I went into the vault. Morgana and I fought. I destroyed the rowan staff that she used to call forth the skeleton army. I tried to tell you,” Merlin answered almost tonelessly, he was both physically and emotionally tired that the response was almost involuntary, without feeling.

“I remember.” There was regret there but even more so, there was a need to _know_. So, not quite able to quell his frustration, Arthur pushed on, “But how did you _know_ to go into the vault _in the first place_? How did you know of _Morgana’s_ involvement?”

Merlin sighed tiredly. His hand was shaky as he rubbed it across his face, “That’s another long story that you won’t like and it goes back to when the King started hallucinating—“

“Which started just after Morgana returned to us,” Arthur interrupted. His voice was husky in dawning realisation and horror at the implication of that one statement.

Merlin nodded, tears burned like ember in his throat and the back of his eyelids at the pain he was surely causing his prince and he was not even halfway done. He swallowed and swallowed again, forced his heart to steel, just for a bit longer.

“The sigil of the Bloodguard on the dagger that was used to kill the castle guard around the same time made me suspicious—“

“The Bloodguard?” this time it was Elyan who interrupted.

“Warrior priests sworn to protect the high priestesses of the Old Religion,” Arthur answered curtly and gestured for Merlin to continue.

“I followed her into the woods one night, when she went to meet with the last known priestess of the Old Religion.”

Arthur’s breath caught in his throat before a gasp was torn out of him, “Morgause.”

The prince could feel his insides began to shake, could feel the beginning of frustrated tears that solved nothing starting to form. He resolutely willed them away.

He had known of Cenred’s part in both sieges, known of Morgause’s involvement with the immortal army, but it had not crossed his mind that she was a part of the siege by the skeleton army as well. Looking back, he felt completely and utterly ridiculous. Cenred’s _not_ a sorcerer. He didn’t _have_ magic. _Of course_ Morgause was involved! Cenred’s army attacking from the outside, the skeleton army from the inside of the castle, called forth by…Morgana…

Merlin’s throat burned, raw and dry as he continued, “Morgana supplied Morgause with Uther’s tears that was used in the spell to attack the King’s mind.”

The silence that followed his statement made Merlin’s head pound in a very ugly beat. He wished he could continue, get the story told before he completely lose his nerves, but Arthur had held his hand up in a gesture for silence and the prince had not said anything since.

When Arthur finally spoke, it was with barely controlled rage. “And you didn’t think to mention this to me?”

“I wanted to!” Merlin responded with outrage. He couldn’t help himself because he _really_ did. He remembered _insisting_ on it. _“We must tell Uther what Morgana has done.”_

Gaius was of a different opinion, _“Are you mad? He'd have both our heads if we made such accusations. He'd look at it as treason.”_

_“We can't just let her get away with it.”_

_“He dotes on her every word, Merlin.”_

_“But...if he knew.”_

_“You've seen how blind he is to her faults.”_

Just as quickly as the outrage came, he deflated, shoulders drooping in defeat.

“I was captured, Arthur. Morgause bound me in magical chains. When I got back, Gaius and I got rid of the mandrake root hidden under the King’s bed and I wanted so badly to let you know.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Would you have believed me?”

Would he have? Arthur thought he might, especially given that the mandrake root would be there as proof. But before he could say as much, his mind reversed back to Merlin’s earlier testament.

“How did you escape… from the magical chains?” He _really_ did _not_ want to know the answer.

“Merlin,” he asked, gently now, his heart clenching in his chest when he saw how broken Merlin looked.

“I didn’t,” Merlin whispered and for a moment, would not meet Arthur’s eyes, tormented by the memory of searing pain, a desperate need to survive, to get back to Arthur, to warn him, to keep him safe.

“They left me in the forest, surrounded by serkets.”

“Serkets?” Percival asked hesitantly, horror written on his face.

“Merlin?” Gwaine was unusually hushed when he prodded, completely dreading the answer that might come.

People did not, as a rule, encounter serkets and survive. Their stings were known to be _so_ _excruciating_ that _killing_ anyone who had been bitten _immediately_ was considered as a _show of mercy_.

He had to assure himself that Merlin had made it. Merlin had survived. Whatever had happened, however bad, Merlin had survived. Merlin was right in front of him, _alive._   

“I was bitten,” another whispered answer.

Gasps, indrawn breaths and curses filled the cave.

“But Merlin,” Leon was almost gasping for breath when he hoarsely asked, “serket’s stings are fatal. How?” he had to take in another breath, “How did you survive?”

“Kilgharrah rescued me. Burned all the serkets and took me to his cave, nursed me till I woke up and in return for his favour I had to command him to fly me back to Camelot, against his wishes.”

Merlin could feel the tears pressing viciously at the back of his eyes, “As it were, we only managed to get rid of the mandrake just in time before its effect became permanent and the King completely loses his mind.”

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands to stop the tears from flowing. “I would’ve told you. I wanted to. But there was Gaius’s caution and Morgana’s threat. They were both right. No one would take a servant’s word over the King’s ward. If I went forward anyway, Gaius would’ve been forced into backing me up. We would’ve both hanged for treason.”

No one in the cave missed the significance of that last statement. Merlin had not kept his silence to save himself. He had kept his silence for Gaius’s sake.

More than one heart broke at the knowledge of how little Merlin valued himself, of how much he valued others.

******

Arthur was completely stricken.

Merlin had been gone for three days while Cenred was amassing his army.

He had been downright _furious_. Had even thrown a tantrum and refused another servant in Merlin’s absent.

And then on the fourth day he thought he’d have to do without his idiot, Merlin finally showed up to wake him up.

Arthur had thought that Merlin’s outraged shock at the state that his room was in was completely misplaced.

_“What happened?!“_

_“What happened? I've had to make do without a servant, that's what happened.”_

_“I wasn't gone for that long.”_

_“ **Without** my permission.” _

_“What if I was dying?”_

_“I wouldn't be complaining! But you're not. So where've you been?”_

_“I was dying.”_

Merlin really **_was_ ** dying.

Merlin was recovering from a fatal wound and he was throwing random objects at Merlin in complete abandon!

He could’ve have hurt him, made him worse!

Arthur winced when he remembered the sickening thud the jug had made when it made contact with the back of Merlin’s head.

_“I was dying.”_

_“I was **dying**.” _

_“ **I was dying.** ” _

Those words kept repeating in his head, getting louder and louder.

To shake them out, Arthur forced himself to remember the words that followed.

_“I don't have time for this. The future of the kingdom rests upon my shoulders. Do you have any idea what that feels like?”_

What a joke that question was, how _completely_ misplaced when _Merlin_ had taken it upon himself to bear Arthur’s burden on his skinny, wiry shoulders.

It should not have been possible, but Merlin had done it.

 _Merlin_ had carried the weight that would’ve crushed anyone else, had done so _silently_ and had borne the _scorn_ and punishment for something that should have received the utmost gratitude and remunerations.

 

*****End Chapter 6*****

****

 

 ** Bonus Material:  ** The things Merlin endured… For the love of Arthur @ Pigtail Pulling Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Pictures for: a) The chapter cover: Taken from Episodes 2.12: The Fires of Idirsholas, 3.01&3.02: The Tears of Uther Pendragon (Parts 1&2) and 3.12&3.13: The Coming of Arthur (Parts 1&2). b) Pigtail Pulling Prince: Taken from Episode 3.02 as well as Episodes 1.01: The Dragon’s Call, 1.02: Valiant, 1.04: The Poison Chalice, 1.10: The Moment of Truth, 2.01: The Curse of Cornelius Sigan, 2.03: The Nightmare Begins, 2.09: The Lady of the Lake and 3.09: Love in the Time of Dragons, respectively.  
>  2\. Gaius’s defence of Merlin to Lancelot is an edited combination of his dialogue (to Merlin) from the end of Episode 2.12 and early of Episode 3.01.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Comments tend to scare me but kudos make me smile and...would go a long way in the form of motivation to write further! ;)


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